[136] Dinner With A Lioness
Chapter 136: Dinner With A Lioness
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The afternoon sun painted Casterly Rock in shades of gold and amber as I made my way toward the great staircase.
My mind was already on the rooftop where Myrcella would be waiting, the little lioness likely shivering with anticipation and dread in equal measure. The thought brought a smile to my face.
Power isn't just in conquest, but in the aftermath. Otherwise, I'd have been content after getting the throne.
A flash of silver-white caught my eye from the grand staircase. I paused.
Descending with otherworldly grace was a sight to behold. Daenerys, but not as the fragile girl I'd once known. Her draconic transformation remained startling even to me.
Silver-white hair coiled around obsidian bone protrusions that emerged from her temples like a crown of horns. The locks were intricately braided, twisting through the dark horns. Her violet eyes burned like twilight stars, pupils narrowed to draconic slits that widened slightly when they landed on me.
The gown she wore was crafted from charcoal-black scales woven with the finest Myrish silk, clinging to every curve and swell of her body. The fabric shimmered with crimson highlights when she moved, giving the impression of embers smoldering beneath dark ashes.
Her shoulders remained free of fabrics, glistening a little. Her arms were encased in gauntlets, her fingers tipped with delicate but lethal talons that clicked softly against the stone banister as she descended.
Behind her, muscular wings—real, not costume—unfurled partially despite the confined space, casting dramatic shadows across the staircase. A barbed tail, long and sinuous, dragged behind her against the stone steps.
[Image Here]
"You're late," she said, her voice carrying new harmonics that hadn't been there before. "The girl has been waiting on the rooftop for quite some time."
"My apologies to her, sister," I replied, watching how her frown transformed her features into something both beautiful and terrifying. The high cheekbones, now accentuated by faint ridges of scales, cast sharp shadows across her face.
"Do you intend to sleep with her tonight?" Daenerys asked bluntly.
I laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "...It might or might not happen. Depends on her. I promised her." I cocked my head to one side, studying her. "Are you jealous, dear sister?"
Daenerys scoffed, the sound carrying a hint of a growl deep in her throat. "I'm leaving."
"Hm? Where?"
"You’re taking too long in this rock, I’m incredibly bored. I'll be flying to Dragonstone since you'll be heading to King's Landing eventually. Thought to check it first."
She's asking my permission, I noted. It didn't sound like that, but it was the case. Destiny didn't ask permission, but Daenerys still did.
"To make sure it's ready to receive us?" I asked, vaguely recalling that in the show, Daenerys had landed at Dragonstone first, finding it abandoned by Stannis's forces.
She nodded, her horns catching the light. "I'll remain there until you arrive. I won't proceed to King's Landing before you."
I considered her request, and as the seconds stretched, I watched how her tail curled and uncurled behind her—a telltale sign of tension I'd learned to recognize.
I smiled. "Sure thing. Take Drogon with you. Tell him not to burn anything though, I don't want a diplomatic incident."
Relief flashed across her features, smoothing the scales at her temples momentarily. "Thank you, brother.”
She moved past me, her wing brushing my shoulder with surprising warmth.
As she receded from view, I turned back to the staircase leading upward. Myrcella awaited, and I had no intention of disappointing her—or myself.
Some fires burned slowly, but consumed just as thoroughly.
****
"...and then he said, 'Perhaps it's not the crown that's too big, but the head that's too small!'" I finished, voice mocking, as my eyes remained locked on Myrcella's face.
“No way? You're lying-” The little princess erupted into genuine laughter, musical and unrestrained, before suddenly catching herself, her eyes widening with the realization of her momentary freedom. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the sound.
"Don't stop on my account," I said, taking a sip of the Arbor gold. "It's a pleasant sound. Like little golden bells."
The rooftop of Casterly Rock offered a breathtaking panorama of the sunset over the Sunset Sea, waves crashing far below against the base of the massive stone fortress. I'd arranged for a small table to be set up, laden with delicacies—honeyed duck, freshly caught fish in saffron sauce, and sweet pastries filled with custard and blackberries.
Myrcella sat across from me, looking exquisite in a gown of emerald silk that complemented her eyes.
Her golden hair had been arranged in an elaborate style, a few loose tendrils framing her face, catching the dying sunlight like threads of pure gold. The dress was cut to accentuate her developing curves, the swell of her breasts pushed up by the tight bodice, her waist impossibly slender, flaring to hips that promised fertility.
She remained quiet. And then…
"What if..." she began hesitantly, then, with surprising boldness, continued, "What if the scary Dragon King doesn't like my laugh and feeds me to his dragon?"
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused by her unexpected spark. Is it the wine? In the right circumstances, the lioness cub showed her claws after all.
"Dragons prefer their meat less..." I hesitated, deliberately letting my eyes roam over her figure, "...gorgeous."
[Image Here]
Her cheeks colored beautifully, but she didn't shrink away as she might have days ago. Progress, indeed.
“Sweet words from a wolf to a sheep,” she said.
"Tell me, little lioness," I chuckled, leaning forward, "do you miss King's Landing? Or perhaps Dorne?"
She considered the question, her slender fingers tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The movement was innocently sensual, making me wonder whether it was calculated or simply the natural grace she'd inherited from her golden-haired mother.
"I miss... certain aspects of both," she admitted. "In King's Landing, I had my family, but was always in brother Joffrey's shadow. In Dorne, I had more freedom, but was still a hostage, if a well-treated one." Her green eyes met mine briefly. "Here, I'm Lady of Casterly Rock, but..."
"But still not free," I finished for her.
The fire inside burns brighter than any cage can contain. I noticed her look.
She nodded, then sighed, a sound that carried the weight of her young years and the burdens placed upon her slender shoulders. "You... you're not that scary, you know?” she said suddenly, looking up at me through long lashes. "Is this a facade? To have my guard down?”
I sipped the gold.
In the show, Myrcella was innocent and sweet. And a tragic wasted death. Here, she lived, a pawn in a different game but with a chance for something more.
"I can be both, Myrcella," I said honestly. "Terrifying to my enemies, less so to those loyal to me. I didn't lie when I said I would treat you well if you behaved and listened to me. Look at Doran. Then look at Ari. Same family, same blood, yet different treatment.”
The breeze caught her hair, sending those golden strands dancing across her face. She tucked them behind her ear with a delicate motion, unwittingly seductive in its simplicity.
"I..." she started, vulnerability replacing her momentary boldness. "I know I’m eighteen, but I'm not ready for a child."
“Hmm?”
Her eyes, those Lannister emeralds, searched mine for a reaction. "I'm asking, since you said you'd wait… how long are you willing to wait if I say I'm not ready yet?"
She really hopes I answer truthfully, I noted from her tone.
My previous conviction of not having a child anytime soon remained. But… she looked incredibly hot tonight. Lies could be said here, and I could have her in my bed. So do I be truthful here or not…?
I sighed.
"...If I'm being truthful, I can wait as long as you'd prefer," I replied, seeing no point in pretense. "If this was any other Lord or King, he’d say that ‘the Westerlands need to see that House Lannister, that Casterly Rock, is now firmly under my control. A child would make that clear.’ Fortunately for you, this King commands dragons. I don't need children to instill fear upon foolish Lords. So ideally, I can wait for years before I’d want myself a Lannister cub. After all, having children with you will cause trouble since I haven't even chosen my Queen.”
“Ah…” Incredible relief washed across her face as she processed my words. She let out a deep sigh, relaxing, and absorbing the honesty of my answer with a pleasant look in her eyes.
There was a long silence after that.
Then, her expression fell. To my surprise, she stood, trembling slightly but with determination in her posture.
“Leaving?”
“No…”
Slowly, hesitantly, she approached me, her hips swaying with each step.
When she reached my chair, she paused, gathering courage, then carefully climbed onto my lap, mimicking what she must have seen or heard of Arianne's boldness, though tinged with her own distinctive fear.
"Ari spoke to me about you. Earlier, your sister did the same… both of them are nice girls, I like them. They only said good stuff about you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of her, warm and soft against me, was intoxicating. How I wanted to ravage her right here. "I... Alright, so, I've decided there's no point living in constant fear of the day it'll happen, so I've decided to just take the initiative myself. Is that good?"
I stared into her eyes. Sometimes surrender is the greatest victory.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, taking a deep breath of her lovely scent. She smelled of lemons and honey, innocence wrapped in silk.
"Yes," I murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver. "I like that."
I captured her lips with mine, feeling her tentative response, a flower just beginning to bloom. It didn't last long, I'd give her a long one later on.
When I pulled back, I looked into those eyes, noting for the umpteenth time how similar they were to Cersei's yet uncorrupted by malice and ambition.
"I like the choice you've made,” I said as I watched her breathe heavily on my face. “Good girls behave like that.”
I watched as she closed her eyes, surrendering to whatever fate I had planned for her.
The lion may be proud, but even it knelt before the dragon.
****
Myrcella's heart hammered against her ribs as his lips claimed hers again, rough and demanding. The kiss was nothing like Trystane's gentle explorations—this was possession, pure and simple.
His hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they slid up her sides, cupping her breasts through the thin silk of her gown.
"Ohh…" she gasped against his mouth, shocked by the jolt of pleasure that shot through her at his touch. Was it the wine making her head spin? They'd shared several cups during dinner, but she hadn't felt drunk until now, until his hands were on her.
His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting of the sweet Arbor gold they'd been drinking. The kiss was messy, powerful—nothing like the careful, reverent way Trystane had always kissed her. Trystane, who had been so patient, so loving.
Trystane.
Guilt flooded her as Viserys pulled her closer, his fingers tangling in her golden hair. She and Trystane had done nearly everything over their years together. His hands had explored every inch of her body, his mouth had tasted her most intimate places. But he'd always stopped short of taking her maidenhead, respecting her Northern customs despite Dorne's more liberal attitudes.
"You're worth waiting for, my love," he'd whispered once, when she'd been ready to give herself to him completely. "When we're wed, I'll make you mine in every way."
And now here she was, straddling the man who had torn her from Trystane's arms, her body betraying her with every thundering heartbeat.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she chanted silently as Viserys's hands slid down her slender waist, squeezing her ass, giving her a strong spank that left her gasping. She groaned while his hands rose high to find the laces of her gown, loosening them with practiced ease.
She didn't like this. This was not Trystane.
I'll only ever love you, Trystane, even as I do this with... with the monster who took everything from me.
"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Viserys murmured against her neck, his breath hot on her skin. "Your Dornish prince."
Myrcella stiffened. "No," she lied, the word barely audible.
His laugh was low, dangerous. "Liar," he whispered, nipping at her earlobe. "I can see it in those pretty green eyes."
Her gown slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her waist. The cool night air raised goosebumps across her exposed skin, her nipples hardening in the chill—or perhaps from something else entirely. She fought the urge to cover herself as his hungry gaze devoured her.
"Beautiful," he breathed, cupping a large yet growing breast in his palm. His thumb circled her nipple, drawing a reluctant moan from her lips. "More responsive than I expected."
Shame burned in her cheeks, but she couldn't deny the heat building between her thighs. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through her that made her tremble.
"Has your prince ever made you feel like this?" he asked, pinching her nipple lightly, watching her gasp.
"Don't talk about him," she managed, her voice shaking.
Viserys smirked, leaning forward to take her other nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made her arch involuntarily, a soft cry escaping her.
This is wrong, this is wrong, this is so so wrong, her mind chanted, even as her body melted under his ministrations.
His hands slid beneath her bunched skirts, tracing patterns on her inner thighs, moving higher with torturous slowness. When his fingers finally brushed against her smallclothes, she couldn't suppress a whimper.
"Already wet for me," he observed, his voice full with satisfaction. "What would your precious Trystane think?"
Tears pricked at her eyes, but the pleasure was undeniable as his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric, finding her slick heat. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as he stroked her, his touch confident, knowing exactly how to make her body respond.
"P-please," she whispered, unsure if she was begging him to stop or continue.
"Please what, little lioness?" he taunted, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot. "Tell me what you want."
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to face him. "Just... just do it quickly," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm ready."
His laugh was dark, mocking. "Are you begging for it, Myrcella? Is that what this is?"
"No," she grumbled, her cheeks burning with humiliation. "I'm not begging for it... I just want it to be over quickly."
"Well. As you wish," he agreed, his hands moving to the laces of his breeches. "But I doubt you'll want it over once we begin."
When his breeches fell, something slapped against her from underneath.
Something huge.
She couldn't see it since she was sitting on top of it, but the size… it made her gulp. She must be feeling it wrong.
His left hand wrapped around her waist, lifting her just a little, and then she felt him positioning himself against her entrance, the hard length of him pressing insistently.
“W-wait, this position-”
“You’ll be fine.”
There was a moment of resistance, a sharp pain that made her gasp, and then he was deep inside her, stretching her, filling her completely.
She hissed in pain, biting her tongue to stop a scream, as she felt something warm trickle down her thigh—her maiden's blood.
Viserys whistled softly, a sound of appreciation that made her stomach twist with a strange mixture of pride and shame.
"I like that. I thought you might already be wasted but this is good," he said, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers, his violet eyes capturing her green ones. "Today, I'll rewrite every little memory you have of your little ex fiancé."
Before she could respond, he began to move, pushing her body down into his cock. Her insides squeezed involuntarily, feeling his hardened pillar slam into her. He handled her like a doll, her weight a nuisance to him as he raised her body up and down by her waist, using her like a musterbation tool.
“O- ohhng~” Myrcella didn't know how to react to this. This was too much. Her thoughts were getting scrambled.
“Well this is an awkward position,” he said as he rose, holding her against him while he was still inside her, as if she were merely a piece of cloth.
With his other hand, he swept everything that was on the table. He placed her back on the now clear table, looming over her with glinting eyes.
Finally, he began to move his waist. He began thrusting into her with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. The initial pain had somehow faded already, replaced by a pleasure so intense it frightened her.
How… how is this possible? she wondered dazedly as waves of sensation crashed over her. Was his manhood somehow magical?
Each thrust drove her higher, wringing sounds from her throat she'd never made before—desperate, animal noises that she barely recognized as her own. Her head fell back, her golden hair cascading down her back as she rode him, matching his rhythm instinctively.
"That's it," he growled, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Take all of me."
She couldn't help it—her body responded to his command, taking him deeper, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure built to an impossible peak.
Drool escaped the corner of her mouth as she lost control of herself, her eyes rolling back as he hit a spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
"Oh gods," she gasped, her voice hoarse. "Oh gods, oh gods— argh, fukkkhh!"
He laughed at her reaction, finding it fun? Or amusing? No, the way he leaned down to kiss it, he found it… lovely.
The world narrowed to just this—his body and hers, joined together, moving in a primal rhythm as old as time.
She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't remember why she should be fighting this overwhelming pleasure.
Her head was spinning, her moans growing louder with each thrust. What expression was on her face right now?
She couldn't imagine, couldn't think straight as he put his body weight over her. Their chests were against one another, their lips the same, as he kissed her deeply while continuing to thrust relentlessly, deeper and deeper until she was certain she would shatter completely.
Myrcella burst out in continuous orgasms by the man who'd taken everything from her. Her fingers clenched his back, but her nails failed to dig into his incredibly strong flesh….
She could only moan, cry, beg, and laugh as his strong masculine manhood made her lose her mind. All night long.
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