AN: and they said unto me, 'GO DIRECTLY TO HORNY JAIL. DO NOT PASS GO'.

SUMMARY AS FOLLOWS:

AU where of course, the whole 'Alicent getting confused thing' conveniently never happens and everyone has moved on with Rhaenyra crowned as Viserys' successor.

Heir to the throne, Jacaerys Velaryon, is plagued by desires that are only natural for a young prince in his prime. He is truly getting to know himself for the first time, coming to grips with what he's been craving while Aegon sets to procure the utmost object of his obsessions into the palm of his hand.

Jace's twin sister, Daenerys, must conquer her fears and grow up out of the shell of childish isolation she has built for herself. If only she could just go on and choose a husband. She really needed to soon, before it was too late for her, before she was torn apart, ravaged to pieces by both her cruelly licentious uncle, Aemond and depraved stepfather, Daemon.

Daenerys is the name I have decided for Jacaerys' twin. I know, I know, but to be honest, I really prefer it over most of the others I found. I deliberately believe Daenerys fits right in this particular story. Idk, I like it, okay, don't hate me.

For some disclaimer, the ships are as follows: Jacaerys/Aegon, maybe some twincest with Jacaerys and his sister, but I haven't completely sold myself on that idea yet. Deffo deffo Daemon/Daenerys Aemond/Daenerys. I may sprinkle in a bit of flirting with Aemond and Jacaerys, but I don't think that ship will be a focus at all, sorry for that my friends.

A Dance with Deviance
Chapter One
-\-O-/-

"On your way out for another night of frivolity, uncle?" Jacaerys poked and Aegon snorted, already long deep in his cups.

"Every night is a night of frivolity, if we're lucky," he was deadly serious. "Come, and join us for once, nephew! Make up for your dour reputation,"

"I'm not dour," Jacaerys pursed his lips, pillowy and pink, and Aegon's glazy gaze lingered on them for a fraction of a moment. "Merely reserved."

"Boring." Aegon cooed, singsong in Jace's ear. As usual he stunk of sickeningly sweet wine, his breath hot against his neck.

Jacaerys watched, shaking his head as Aegon and the ragtag miscreants whom he deigned friends vanished down the corridor, their voracious cackles and hearty laughter reverberating the stone walls.

A feeling of regret wedged its way into his belly, wishing he had the nerve to speed up after them. Instead, he went and sought out a source of his reprieve, his twin sister, Daenerys. She always had a way of making him feel better, or less intelligent, depending on the day.

Her guard opened the door for him, "Prince Jacaerys, my princess,"

Daenerys did not look up from her desk as he sauntered within.

"What are you doing?" he drew, leaning over the oaken table and finding he felt just as boring as Aegon said.

"Oh, nothing of great consequence," she mumbled, fumbling with the next page of the large text she was poring over.

"All you do is read." Jacaerys gestured pointedly.

Dany huffed in indignation, "That's better than what you do."

"And what's that?"

"Pace around the halls restlessly, looking for some way to be important."

"I am important. I'm… next in line for the throne if you cared to notice."

Jacaerys, of course, did not feel convinced of that. He never had. His uncles, and even his little brothers, with their snow-white hair and perfect Targaryen features would be just enough to sway the public's eye. Every single day, to see them so smugly Valyrian was a stark reminder of who Jace really was – a bastard of the highest order.

His dragon, Vermax, kept them all at bay for now, the proof he came from Targaryen stock and his mother's word also, was the law. Just as well, after Daemon took Ser Vaemond Velaryon's head – or tongue, depending on how you spun it – for daring to utter the truths of it, and Lucerys taking Aemond's eye that fateful eve… Jace had hardly heard a word of his parentage since, though he knew there were still whispers.

Aegon, thankfully, did not seem interested in the throne, not one ounce. Aemond, however…

Daenerys snickered, "Mm, yes. I had no idea."

Jace rolled his eyes. "I'd hoped you would be nice to me. Not in a good mood, I take it?"

Dany shrugged, finally peeling her eyes away from the pages. "Mother was just here after dinner. She wants me to choose a husband as soon as possible, or she and Daemon will choose one for me."

Jacaerys' eyes sparkled with remorse. "That doesn't sound like mother."

"I'm honestly surprised I even get to choose. You didn't."

Jacaerys thought of Baela who was visiting their grandsire, Corlys along with Rhaena and his brother, the heir to Driftmark, Lucerys.

Jace cared for his cousin Baela, and they got on well enough, like two peas in a pod, really, but the few times he had attempted to court her, all the moments they had been alone, there was no spark. He had felt nothing but platonic love, though she was comely, and just as well, he presumed the indifference was mutual.

Baela did not seem to care for romance or affection, nor being doted over, nothing like that. She cared only for duty, politics and family. Jacaerys, however, he had been craving more and more recently, libidinous, debauched things.

As a boy of one and eight now and as virtuous a prince there ever was, he found his eyes wandering a lot, and he found he liked more than just pretty maidens.

He enjoyed girls, and he'd likely be able to sleep with them but there was something else that piqued his fancy as of late, something else entirely. As disciplined as Jace was, he was afraid that sooner or later, he would succumb to these impulses. With whom and how, was still the lingering conundrum.

Jacaerys did not wish to betray his betrothed. Really, it would be the last thing he wanted. He had never once considered it until these last catapulting weeks.

And yet…

"Anyone in mind?" Jacaerys pressed, but he knew his sister was even more plucky than their mother, and as difficult to catch as a mouse.

"I detest everyone."

"Well, you're just a bucket of sunshine."

"Why didn't you go with Aegon, then, if sunshine's what you're after?"

Jacaerys snorted, "And reduce myself to that of his level? I don't think so."

"It could be fun, you never know. And you are rather uptight. One night wouldn't kill you."

"Right. Though it may tarnish my good character."

"Your good character is un-tarnishable."

"That's not a word, but thank you, Dany," he said, and she appeared annoyed, clearly having known it was not a real word. "Unfortunately, I don't think any honorable man could endure a night out with Aegon and not find his morals crumbling before him."

"Maybe you should test that theory, then."

Jacaerys gazed at her, perplexed. "What's gotten into you?"

"I am simply in a mood, Jacaerys." Daenerys glared at him with the fire of a thousand suns and to Jace, that probably meant just one thing – women's issues.

Jacaerys understood and promptly left her room.

He soon was met in the hall by Aemond. "Care for some sword play tomorrow in the training yard, nephew?"

Jacaerys hesitated, knowing full well Aemond was one of the best. Not to mention, their not so wholesome history of sparring together, especially when Ser Harwin had been around. "I could."

"No need to feel overwhelmed. I only aim to help you improve."

"I'm not overwhelmed," Jace scoffed and Aemond's smirk deepened. "Only wary, and rightly so." With his luck, Aemond would take this as a chance to 'accidentally' skewer him as a way to get rid of the first bastard in Rhaenyra's succession.

Aemond's single, crystal blue eye studied Jace, twinkling with playfulness. "I'll go easy on you."

Aemond proceeded to walk past him and Jace swirled around, "Why the sudden desire to help me with my swordplay?"

"No need to over assess my intentions, nephew. You should feel grateful to take my counsel."

Jacaerys rolled his eyes, petulant. Though he could admit that Aemond was highly skilled and vastly intelligent in a slew of ways he was not, it made it all the more unbearable that the brute walked around as if he had more of a right to be there than he.

What's worse was Aemond probably did deserve it more than he, which Jacaerys loathed to dwell on.

-\-O-/-

The next morning after breakfast, Jace was on his way to the yard, thinking only of his late father, his true father. Ser Harwin Strong was gone, lost in the fires of Harrenhal.

Not much time went by after his mother's coronation before Alicent Hightower made her allegiance with the queen more stable, casting the accusation that she had reason to believe that Larys Strong had orchestrated Ser Harwin and Ser Lyonel's deaths. Just before they were going to arrest the murderous traitor, they found he had somehow escaped King's Landing and right out of their clutches.

That had been a couple of years ago about now.

He passed by two simpering maids who gazed up at him coquettishly, giggling loftily to each other about him. Jace could not help but wonder idly why he hadn't been forced yet to marry and make heirs. He and Baela were well passed the correct age for procreation and forging children would only make his claim better, stronger.

Perhaps, he just really wanted to fuck, and to be fucked, at that. He was restless for it. He wanted to know what it was like. Was it so bad to want that?

But he could not deign himself to bed just anyone. He had standards, and those standards were high. He would bed Baela for duty, but he wanted more. He needed passion, an itch that called for scratching so badly.

Jace wisped into the training yard, Aemond eagerly awaiting him. Aemond's long silver locks glowed in the warm sun, the vaguest of smiles on his lips, already brandishing his sword. "Uncle," Jacaerys greeted.

Aemond's eye glinted at him, and then at the edge of his blade before him. "What do you think your weaknesses are when it comes to the sword?"

Already getting right into it.

Jacaerys gave it a fair thought, then, "Agility, perhaps. Maybe… my coordination."

"Mm, yes. Those are very important." Aemond exuded his usual air of arrogance, but it did not feel malicious. "You've never been the best with your footwork, have you? But your eyes," he circled Jace, getting in close behind him. His own blue orb pierced through his soul. "You have eyes like a hawk."

"Is that my strength?" Jace queried with amusement and Aemond smirked down at him from his great height.

"One of them, my prince," Jacaerys attempted not to feel as surprised as he was at the rare compliment. "You must try only to watch and feel with your eyes, and the pull of your gut." Then he said, in High Valyrian, "Gaomagon daor pendagon tolī olvie, mandian. Sir jiōragon ezīmagon vāDegon." It meant, 'Do not think too much, nephew. Now get into position.'

Jacaerys nodded, allowing his uncle's words to delegate his actions now. He shut off his mind the best he could, his eyes and what he saw with them being his only focus, looking ahead at Aemond and his sword.

As their blades clashed, Jace did his best to merely feel and sense the moves coming. He blocked and parried almost every one of Aemond's blows, sidestepping and rolling away in the nick of time. He'd found Aemond's advice to be sound, and Jace dared a tiny smirk to play on his lips as he took an opening, landing a hit onto the back of Aemond's leg as he spun around.

A crowd had slowly begun to form around them; a spackle of knights preparing for their own sparring, a peppering of ladies from the castle, including his sister Daenerys, Alicent Hightower and one of his least favorites in all the realms, Criston Cole, had even come to observe the intense spectacle.

Thankfully, the besmirched knight was likely not to involve himself in the duels of the Targaryen boys so easily, as he once would have.

Alicent and Ser Criston mainly kept to themselves around court, and many knew, including but not limited to, the queen herself, of Alicent and Cole's on and off again secret meetings.

It was an old rumor, one that hardly anyone cared to gossip about much anymore, though Jacaerys suspected his mother and Alicent had shared many a heated word over it. Jace surmised the only reason Alicent even stayed in King's Landing was because of her children who refused to leave, and the only reason Criston remained, was to protect Alicent.

At least Otto, though as experienced and useful as he was, had fled back to Oldtown. Having him around had been enough bother as it were, and Rhaenyra had not been able to risk the old geezer lurking about, plotting as he had.

The Queen's Hand, Rhaenys, who had taken a long time to come around to the idea of it, took care of things with ease around court, and those who dared took issue with her choices or strategies, had both Corlys and Rhaenyra to answer to.

Rhaenyra had plenty of her own distractions and worries to think about, ensuring their lasting reign of peace amongst the Seven Kingdoms, for one. Not to mention the copious amount of time she spent herself with her raven-haired confidant – resident Master of Whisperers, Mysaria, the White Wyrm.

As he evaded another probing attack, Jacaerys caught a glimpse of Daenerys who smiled her set of pearly whites at him, seemingly in a better mood. It was just enough for him to get thwacked in the arm for not paying enough attention to the lesson.

He and Aemond met each other, swing for swing, the slicing sound of their blades clambering around them, but Jace heard nothing. Only his own heartbeat in his ears, feeling only how it felt when he could see an attack coming.

His stepfather, Daemon had now entered the fold, smirking and observing from a distance with keen interest, but Jace willed himself to pay it all no mind.

By the time the two prince's had concluded their sparring, sufficiently roughed up and breathless, Jacaerys felt mildly injured, but nothing he couldn't handle. He suffered a split lip, many bruises over his figure, and his body was overexerted and achy.

It felt good. Jacaerys hadn't had a training session like that in ages. He could admit he'd been fairly rusty, but now he could look forward to his improvements. When Luke returned, Jace would have to show him how much better he was becoming.

He went to clean up in the communal baths meant for only highborn where he knew the water was always hot, ready, and well-maintained by the servants.

The sprawling, grandiose room was empty and Jacaerys sunk into one of the steaming pools, settling in and relaxing before no time. He scoured himself with soap and oils, cedarwood and pine this time, but he also liked lavender and lilac, sometimes sweet pea or rosemary.

The spicy, earthy tones invigorated his senses and eased his muscles. He lowered himself until he was completely submerged, thick dark curls saturated and dripping as he resurfaced and sloshed the mop out of his face. He soaped up the wetted mess and rinsed it until he felt squeaky clean.

He was rubbing the water out of his slightly stinging eyes when he realized someone was entering.

It was Aegon, the lout. He had clearly overdone it on his night out, dark purple rings under his eyes, his white hair a disheveled, matted mess, and here he was, already with a spilling goblet in hand.

Still not having dressed for the day, Aegon's long, velvet robe slipped from his frame with practiced ease and Jacaerys averted his wide-eyed gaze at once, feeling an unfamiliar heat creep up his neck.

Aegon did not even notice Jace until he was falling into the same pool across from him and Jacaerys' body stiffened awkwardly, attempting but failing at quelling his rising anxiety.

"Jacaerys," Aegon giggled in surprise, reaching for his oils. "I didn't see you."

"Suppose I can be easy to miss."

Jace watched, puzzled as Aegon's dark blue eyes slowly appraised him, dancing along his bare collarbone, his shoulders, lean but wide and strong, very Strong. Aegon's teeth had bared slightly in his coy grin as he reached Jace's furrowed glower. "Not entirely." He replied, and Jacaerys' confusion only worsened. "Some of us actually had a good time last night, nephew, good enough to dim the wits this morning."

"Just how you like it. Dim-witted."

Aegon's cackle quickly withered into a whimper as he held the side of his face in apparent agony. Jacaerys was glad for the camaraderie, that Aegon and he could banter like this without much worry. Aemond was the one who had never been able to take a jest and took everything seriously by the skin of his teeth.

Jace took the opportunity of his uncle's pain to reach for his clothes, preparing to exit the water. Yet when he looked back Aegon was smirking at him, covering an eye with his splayed fingers like a peeping child. "Don't be so shy, Jace. Give us a show."

That inherent heat crept further up his neck, his cheeks splotchy red. "I'm not shy. I don't care what you see, but the last thing you would ever get from me is a show."

Aegon's smirk remained as he began to wash himself, "Soo touchy."

In one swift motion, Jace pulled himself from the bath, feeling his uncle's lecherous stare on him. Jace grabbed a linen towel, patting himself dry. He kept his back straight, standing tall with his chin held high as he toweled his own manhood. He glared at Aegon from the side under long lashes, his eyes glistening dangerously, as if daring him to say anything.

Aegon did not, his gaze playful and alight. He chewed his bottom lip in consideration as Jacaerys dressed himself, focus having waned from the washing he was doing beneath his arms.

Jacaerys' face went from valiant to confused again, studying the way Aegon leered at him.

Instant repulsion permeated his being. Jacaerys, who had never entertained such an idea before, was slowly realizing Aegon's appetites were perhaps far larger than previously thought possible. Could it be his uncle thought him… appealing? Did he lust for him, right now in the bath, or was this just Aegon being Aegon?

He always did have a way with making people uncomfortable, touching them too much, the occasional grope. Aegon was just like that.

If he were seeing Jace under lust-filled lenses, it was certainly a new development, one Jacaerys hadn't placed. As naïve as Jace could be sometimes to others' affections, he had been getting better and better with spotting it, and Aegon had never given him reason to believe it before this moment.

Jace left without a word, feeling embarrassed but still as though he'd won the game. That was the last time his uncle would be seeing him like that. Jace could not be letting anything like it happen again, lest Aegon started getting any ideas, lest he himself get any ideas.

-\-O-/-

But Aegon had been getting ideas, which Jace had been completely unaware of, oblivious to carnality and the baser natures of the flesh as he was. Aegon, with many in line to bed him and plenty of whores to entertain him, had only noticed here or there in his spare time, how much his nephew had grown.

He was not as tall as Aegon, but in a fleeting few years had sprouted up into a strapping young prince, handsome as hell, and haughty as ever. Aegon hadn't meant to, exactly, but he had found himself caught up taking in his striking good looks, Jace and his twin sister who looked every bit her brother but softer, with tits.

She was appealing in her own right, and oh, he liked her, but Aegon was becoming undeniably drawn to his nephew, despite his best efforts. And he had tried. He promised, he had.

Yet what Aegon desired, Aegon got, and he could not push it away any longer, the pull he felt; the twitching of his cock as Jacaerys spoke and he watched, only able to imagine how his pretty pout would look spliced around him, wet and suckling, those big brown eyes peering at him with that eagerness to please.

Just now, taking in his fit figure in the bath… Aegon had actually been a little taken aback that his nephew had stared him down in such a way, as if to challenge him. Aegon's arousal instantly jutted tall, painfully hard beneath the water, its full attention on Jacaerys.

He got the distinct feeling, though the boy was inexperienced and standoffish, that Jace wanted more than he let on.

He used to revel in Aegon's mischief and misbehavior until Aegon's deeds had changed from childish and mundane to chasing after the scullery maids.

So wound up, such a prude.

Aegon longed to defile his nephew.

And he would.

-\-O-/-

Daenerys hiked up her gown, taking the steps back into the castle from the gardens. She had just spent a significant amount of time with Helaena and the little ones, chitchatting about nothing and enjoying each other's company. The bard had played music for them on his mandolin, and the sunshine in the sky had successfully fought off the rolling clouds.

It would have been a nice day, even Jace with his milestones in the training yard, but every moment her mind led her back to the choice she had to make, her good spirits faded.

She'd rather not get married, or at least if she did, could it not be for love?

Though who was there, to love?

Nobody, as far as the eye could see, and there was only as far to look as King's Landing. She had met many a lord, and her mother had made a gallant effort, holding a fair share of what were eventually failed events for Daenerys to meet them.

They came from all over, a staggering number of Riverland boys, Tully's, Blackwood's, Brackens, Frey's and more. There were a few sons of the Arryn's of the Vale, some Lannister's, a couple of lone wolves and such who traveled all the way from the North, Tyrell's and Tarley's, as well as a slew of Baratheon brothers of Storm's End.

Some were handsome and dignified, would probably make fine husbands. Others, not so much. Yet the last thing Daenerys found herself wanting was children of her own. She was a scholar, a reader of many tales and novels and history books from over the ages. Her sharp mind could be utilized, and she dearly wished that could be the case.

It had been a wonder that her grandsire had even anointed her mother as the rightful heir, considering nobody in the world took women seriously. It was a curse, a great big curse. She would have done far nicer as a man, a prince.

Daenerys would have made a fine prince, but she was a princess, and a shite one.

Suddenly, her stepfather, Daemon, was trailing her, making haste past her guards to catch up to her.

"Yes, Daemon?" she questioned, suspicion on her tongue.

"Tick-tock, Daenerys," he chided, elbowing her in the shoulder and she only glowered further.

"I had hoped I might have more than just one little day to make my choice. You and mother only just pestered me about this yesterday evening." Her annoyance was evident and clear, her heart forever on her sleeve bared for all to see.

In High Valyrian, Daemon slurred lazily by her ear, as if bored, "We have given you years to think it over. It is time you become a real woman and serve your realm like the dutiful little Targaryen princess that you are."

Dany bristled with contempt, stopping in her tracks. In her own near perfect mother tongue, she retorted, "If that is the case, then how is it my twin brother, the Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the throne has not yet been made to do the same? He should have children by now."

"He will get his turn, in time." Daemon relayed with a subtle gleam in his eyes that showed he meant it.

Daenerys demanded to argue it further but refrained herself. She merely nodded, casting her eyes to the floor, solemn, demure.

Daemon's foxlike smirk and calculating gaze made him all the more attractive, leaning in again to murmur, his warm breath falling like soft rain over the exposed part of her neck, "You are lovely, stepdaughter. Impudent, so often disobedient but lovely. You know you may have anyone you desire, at my behest."

The crawling, caressing hand along the small of her back beneath her long, dark waves had almost a lover's touch. Dany's breath hitched, her large eyes widening from both the stimulating sensations, and that this was her father by marriage, saying these things, applying his hand to her in this way.

"At your behest." She echoed, and Daemon gave her a small nod.

"See you at dinner, daughter," he said then in the common language, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he glided away.

Daenerys had honestly no idea what in the hells that'd been about, but she was glad it was over.

She fled into the library where she was hoping to get an ounce of peace, if for however brief. Daenerys shooed her guards away to the door, her servants producing for her a chalice of wine.

Despite what others might have said, she drank. Not too often, lest her family members take notice, but oh, did she love to drown away her sorrows. Mostly alone, occasionally with Jace, though he was not much of a drinker himself.

She should not be drinking when she was sad either, but here she was. Dany opened a book, closed it and opened another, though she cared little what was in front of her at the moment. She'd hardly be able to retain any of it, not when she felt like this.

She was befallen with a deep emptiness that pierced and ebbed painfully through her soul, withering away any hopefulness that had been left.

It was then that a gentle but firm voice in perfect High Valyrian thwarted her chances of going fully numb.

"Don't look so glum, my princess," Aemond's one riveting eye drank her in, a tall shadow amidst the dim candlelight. "You have it far better than most other ladies of Westeros. The ungratefulness does not become you."

Daenerys had just about enough of everyone in her life telling her what to do, and she told Aemond just that.

Aemond's hardened scowl was riddled with amusement, stepping forward into the light by the window where she sat in the large armchair. He rested a hand atop of it, his eye seething over her lips, her face, "Perhaps instead of opening that mouth of yours as you so often do, you silence yourself and listen to what you're told."

As if on cue, Dany's mouth hung open, aghast at the way he was looking at her, but more at the hurtful, snide unfairness that was forever a man's dialogue toward her.

Maybe she did talk a bit too much sometimes. Just a bit. She had opinions and ideas, she was imaginative and inventive. At least, she thought so, and so did Helaena. Why was it nobody else ever noticed or cared? Sometimes, it felt like even her own twin did not appreciate her. Or was it she thought far too highly of herself? She could not dismiss that possibility.

Aemond watched the struggle on her face, a notch between her brows as a storm of thoughts presented themselves in her doe eyes, brimming with enraged tears.

"You are far too hard yourself, niece," he offered kindly. In some ways, he sympathized with her. "I see a lot of myself in you, I must admit."

Daenerys blinked back up at him, wiping delicately a bit of wetness from her cheek, "Truly, uncle?"

He leaned further onto the chair, resting himself on the arm of it. His long, twisting torso was so close to Daenerys now, the alluring scent of smoke on his armor invading her and she could not help the small bob in her throat as she openly gaped at him.

Aemond's bottom lip worried between his teeth briefly, oozing confidence as he stuck out an index then, pressing it lightly to her chin until she closed her mouth with a small 'clunk' of her teeth. "There," he murmured coyly in the common tongue now, hand retreating. "You seem to need some help with that."

Her emotions had long since got the better of her, her flushed, pinked face acting of its own accord and her lips popped open again in reverie. Aemond's blue eye narrowed down at her.

"Such a precocious little…"

His long, cold fingers clasped tightly around her jaw, her plump lips squeezing together in an uncomfortable pucker. His own lips treaded close, titillating, a thinly shaped heart pressed into a line of disapproval, and she glared him in that one, entrancing eye with a false sense of determination.

"Will you ever learn?" he hissed, a viper to her mouse. He could smell the wine on her, his own tongue watering at the thought that nagged him to press it within her mouth and have a taste.

Dany's internal sanity cracked, and her look of boldness lightened quickly into that of heady bemusement. Her brows unfurled, a bewildered snigger vibrating beneath his callous grip.

Aemond stared at her, shocked, irate yet captivated by her blatant cheekiness, the sense that she had somehow lost her will and had given up. Her blissfully long, soft curls brushed against his knuckles as she shook her head in disarray and reluctantly, he let go of her face.

He stood tall with his back turned to her, a clenched fist at his hip. "You need to present yourself as the proud daughter you are supposed to be and take your duties in stride, with honor for our houses and for your mother, the queen."

He said that as if it was not a fact she already knew and had heard a thousand times over and as he finally exited the library, Daenerys downed the rest of her cup and wept.

-\-O-/-

AN: hope you lovelies like it, more soon xx