[137] A Reflection

Chapter 137: A Reflection

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Morning sunlight spilled across the vast bedchamber like molten gold, bathing the lavish furnishings in a warm glow that even Tywin Lannister might have approved of. It was his bedchamber, after all.

I woke to the gentle shifting of weight beside me, the silk sheets rustling as my bedmate attempted a stealthy escape. Myrcella moved with painful caution, her golden hair falling in tousled waves across her bare shoulders. Each wince and subtle motion told its own story of our night's activities.

Her slender form was silhouetted perfectly against the window, the light illuminating the curve of her hip, the delicate line of her spine as she sat perched at the edge of the mattress.

Somehow she looked more attractive than last night, flushed with the afterglow of pleasure I'd given her.

She glanced back, perhaps thinking me still asleep, and I caught a flash of conflicted emotions across her face—embarrassment, confusion, and something softer I couldn't quite name. Her emerald eyes, so like her mother's yet unmarred by cruelty, widened when they met mine.

"Going somewhere, little lioness?" I murmured, voice still rough from sleep. "Did I tire you out too much?"

A blush bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down her neck to the tops of her breasts. She clutched the sheet tighter, as if suddenly remembering her nakedness.

"I... I just..." she stammered, unable to finish the thought.

I chuckled, reaching out to pull her back against me. Her body came willingly despite her hesitation, soft and warm against mine. I kissed her nape, traced a finger along the curve of her jaw, and tilted her face up to mine.

"You were magnificent," I told her, allowing genuine admiration to color my tone. "Cersei would be proud of your stamina."

Her blush deepened impossibly. "Must you mention my mother at a time like this?"

I laughed, amazed by her small show of defiance. "My apologies. Though I suspect your mother would have advice for bedding kings. She certainly had enough practice."

Myrcella's hand found my chest, giving me a gentle shove that spoke more of embarrassed protest than actual resistance. "You're terrible."

"And yet you're still here," I pointed out, sliding my hand down the curve of her waist. "Are you very sore?"

She dropped her gaze, nodding slightly. "A little. Alright, a lot. It's aching, and I don’t know if I can stand up. It's... not entirely unpleasant, though." The admission seemed to cost her, the words barely audible.

I was about to respond when a confident knock rattled the door, followed immediately by a familiar voice.

"Room service! Ah, or is it King service?"

Before either of us could react, the door swung open, and Arianne Martell swept into the chamber like she owned it. She carried a silver tray bearing a crystal pitcher of lemonade and three delicate glasses, her hips swaying with deliberate provocation beneath a Dornish silk robe of sunset orange. The garment clung to her curves as if wet, the neckline plunging so low it seemed to defy both gravity and modesty.

"Good morning to the ravished and the ravisher," Arianne announced, her silver eyes dancing with mischief as she took in our state of undress. "I thought you might need refreshment after your... exertions."

Myrcella made a sound like a strangled kitten, attempting to burrow under the covers. I couldn't help but laugh, enjoying both her mortification and Arianne's audacity.

"You've impeccable timing, Princess," I drawled, making no move to cover myself as the sheet pooled around my waist. "Though most would knock and actually wait for permission to enter a king's bedchamber."

Arianne set the tray down on a nearby table, her movements causing her robe to slip further down one shoulder, revealing the copper swell of her breast. The "accident" was so perfectly timed that I had to admire her skill.

"Most aren't me," she replied, pouring lemonade with theatrical grace. "And you've never complained about my entrances before." She approached my side of the bed first, offering a glass with a curtsy so deep it gave me an unobstructed view down her robe. "Your Grace."

I accepted the drink, letting my fingers brush against hers. "Bold as ever, Ari."

"You prefer me any other way?" She winked, then turned to the Myrcella-shaped lump hiding beneath the sheets. "Come now, sweetling. No need for such shyness. We're practically family now."

Slowly, Myrcella emerged, her face flushed crimson as she clutched the sheet to her chest. Arianne approached her with surprising gentleness, offering the second glass of lemonade.

"Here you are," she said softly. "You look like you could use the refreshment." As Myrcella hesitantly accepted the drink, Arianne leaned down and placed a quick, affectionate kiss on the tip of her nose. "You're positively glowing, by the way. Our king must have treated you well."

Of course I had. Conquest comes in many forms; not all require fire and blood.

"Careful there, Ari," I warned, raising an eyebrow. "That's my lioness you're lavishing with attention. Such blatant poaching might require punishment."

Arianne turned to me, one hand perched provocatively on her hip, her head tilted in challenge. "Oh? And what punishment would you decree, Your Grace?" She ran her tongue slowly across her lower lip, the gesture deliberate and hypnotic. "Should I be... spanked for my transgression? Or perhaps something more creative?"

I laughed, amused by her performance. "You're incorrigible, woman."

"One of my many charms," she agreed, dropping onto the edge of the bed with casual intimacy. The motion caused her robe to ride up, exposing a tantalizing length of smooth thigh. "So, besides recovering from what was clearly a memorable night, what does the Dragon King have planned for today? More terrorizing of Westerland lords? Or perhaps"—she glanced meaningfully at Myrcella—"a day spent enjoying the spoils of war?"

To my surprise, Myrcella managed a small smile at this exchange. The sight was unexpectedly pleasing. Perhaps she was beginning to understand that her new life wouldn't be the torment she had feared.

"I think we've terrorized enough lords for one conquest," I said, sipping the tart, refreshing lemonade. "Today might be better spent consolidating our position."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Arianne smirked, stretching languidly like a satisfied cat. "Well then, by all means, consolidate away. Though I do hope you'll save some energy for me later. It’s been a painfully lonely few days for me…"

"The dragon has fire enough for both of you," I assured her, earning another blush from Myrcella and a delighted laugh from Arianne.

As we sat there and sipped lemonade—the Dragon King, the Dornish Princess, and the Lannister Heiress—I was struck by the surreal perfection of the moment. Here I was, lounging in Tywin Lannister's bed, with his granddaughter warming my sheets and a Martell princess at my feet. The Old Lion would be apoplectic.

It was an incredibly different life from what “Viserys” led before “I” awakened. And yet, it was also incredibly different from the life I led back on Earth. I was no more than an average man. Sometimes that life felt like a mere dream rather than reality. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

Victory tastes sweetest when savored slowly, with those you've conquered beside you.

"What are you thinking about?" Arianne asked, noting my expression. "You look entirely too pleased with yourself."

"Just appreciating life's little ironies," I replied, raising my glass in a mock toast. "To conquest—in all its forms."

Myrcella’s eyes trembled a little at the word, but she tentatively raised her glass as well, the morning light catching in her golden hair like a crown. Arianne completed our triangle, her eyes gleaming with promises of pleasures yet to come.

"To conquest," they echoed, one voice shy, one bold, both mine.

In that moment, with the morning sun streaming through windows overlooking lands that now belonged to me, with two beautiful women who had bent to my will in different ways, I couldn't name a single thing that felt better than Conquest.

I couldn’t wait for more.

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