[84] An Extra Special Night

Chapter 84: An Extra Special Night

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The wedding feast had gone on forever. Faces I barely knew congratulated me, musicians swapped between Northern ballads and Reach tunes, and enough food was laid out to feed half of King’s Landing.

I’d forced myself through all of it—the toasts, the silly dances, the drunken jokes from lords about the bedding ceremony I’d forbidden.

Finally, I could slip away to my chambers with my new wives.

I pushed open the heavy oak door of my royal bedchamber. Soft light from dozens of oil lamps warmed the place, dancing across polished furniture and glinting off little golden dragon fixtures. The thick velvet curtains were pulled against the night, creating a cozy little world away from everything else.

My eyes didn’t rest on the decorations for long, for there were more beautiful things in the room than that. My two wives, one sat on the bed and the other one the table, set up like opposing chess pieces.

Margaery stood up the moment I entered. She was wearing a green silk gown that hugged her curves and was decorated with golden roses that caught the lamplight. Her chestnut hair fell in fancy curls, and her smile was alluring.

She looked every inch the queen she aimed to be.

Sansa, on the other side, also stood from her position in the bed. She was wearing a more subdued blue-grey dress with small red stitching—just enough Stark and Targaryen to be noticeable. Her auburn hair was styled in a simpler Northern way, though she looked no less lovely. Her posture was stiff, her smile quieter but earnest.

Their eyes locked in a brief exchange of defiance. Then, they slowly turned to me with courteous smiles. “Your Grace,” they said almost together, then shot each other a tiny glare at the coincidence.

I chuckled, closing the door behind me. “My ladies. Hopefully, I didn’t make you wait too long. Did you enjoy the day?”

“Of course. The ceremony was beautiful,” Sansa offered, fiddling with her gown’s sleeve. “Though I… I’ve never seen a wedding done with fire before.”

“The Lord of Light brings passion more than your cold northern gods,” Margaery said. “Right, Your Grace?”

“All gods do their part,” I said lightly, stepping toward the center of the room. “But I’ll admit, R’hllor’s fire does liven things up. The world ought to change, so we have to accept the changing religions as well. Only a dynasty that can adapt to change can survive.”

“Wise words. Some say a dragon is a symbol of change, too. Since one has appeared after so long, we should prepare. Speaking of dragons, I thought half the smallfolk would panic when Viserion flew in,” Margaery went on with a soft laugh. “Poor Loras nearly pulled his sword. It’s difficult to get used to such a presence.”

“The Northerners kept calmer,” Sansa countered, some pride slipping into her voice. “We’re used to harsher things.”

I smiled at how clearly they were competing. “Still, both your Houses stood strong. A good start to our alliance.”

My gaze drifted to the table between them. Two different drinks were set out, waiting. Before anyone spoke, both stepped forward.

“I’ve brought the finest Arbor gold, Your Grace,” Margaery said fast, picking up a fancy crystal goblet filled with pale golden wine. A whiff of summer fruits and flowers reached my nose. “It’s been kept in my family’s cellar since before Robert’s Rebellion.”

“And I have northern mead,” Sansa said, offering a carved wooden cup etched with wolf designs. “Sweetened with wildflower honey and spiced with cinnamon from our glass gardens. My father… always said it warms you better than any southern wine.”

In unison, they both said, “Try mine first, Your Grace.”

They quickly looked at each other, then forced polite smiles back at me. I laughed, truly amused by their eagerness. “Two fresh drinks from my new brides. Both look appealing.” I glanced back and forth, enjoying the tension. “But which to drink first? Tough call.”

Margaery’s smile stayed polite but went a bit tight around the edges. “The Arbor gold will cleanse your palate. It’s perfect for a start.”

“But the mead’s heartier,” Sansa jumped in. “Best to begin with something substantial.”

“Hmm…” I slipped a gold dragon coin from my pocket, letting it catch the lamplight. “A fair king leaves it to fate, yes? Heads for Margaery’s wine, tails for Sansa’s mead.”

They both hushed, watching me flip the coin high. I caught it with a flourish, then smacked it on the back of my hand.

“Heads,” I declared, showing the dragon sigil.

Margaery’s face lit up, a genuine little triumph in her eyes as she handed me the goblet. Sansa’s lips pressed together briefly before she managed a composed nod and set down her wooden cup softly.

I sipped the Arbor gold slow, savoring its layers. I decided to describe the taste once I was done, given how intensely Marg was staring. “Delicate but not weak. Hints of summer peaches and honey. The Reach, in liquid form.”

Margaery glowed at the praise. “I picked it myself from our best barrels. My grandmother always said a good wine reveals the character of its land.”

“Your grandmother was a wise woman, indeed.” I put the goblet down and picked up Sansa’s cup. “Now the North’s gift.”

The mead was strong and warming, surprisingly complex. “Bold and straightforward, with a hidden depth,” I said. “Like the North itself. Great for a cold night.”

Sansa’s eyes brightened, though she stayed controlled. “Thank you, Your Grace. It’s made from the same recipe my family’s used for generations.”

“Both have their charms,” I said. “Wine for big celebrations, mead for long winter evenings. Lucky me, having wives who bring two distinct flavors to my table.”

Margaery flicked a small barb. “Our dear Sansa’s taste runs a bit… rustic, wouldn’t you say, Your Grace? It has a certain charm in its simplicity.”

“The ceremony was quite rustic as well,” Sansa replied, voice holding a bit of newfound grit. “All that excessive chanting from Reach lords. In the North, we like a quieter dignity over flashy shows.”

I lifted a brow, impressed she fired back.

Sansa added, “I’d rather be rustic than overly sweet, Lady Margaery. Too much sugar can turn your stomach, after all.”

Margaery’s eyes hardened briefly. “It’s a good thing the king enjoys variety. Perhaps he’ll find cold northern nights as pleasant as warm southern days.”

I watched this exchange with amusement. Exactly what I wanted—two determined women trying to beat each other. Their focus wouldn’t stray far from outdoing one another, leaving me to do as I pleased. This would allow me far more control over them and the realm itself, rather than if I’d married only one.

“Ladies,” I cut in, stepping between them. My tone dropped a few degrees. Although I liked it, I had to make something clear. “I welcome your rivalry. In fact, I encourage it. The competition for the crown will keep you on your toes.”

I took another sip from each cup, then set them down carefully. “But listen… If either of you truly harms the other, I’ll punish both. In case of one’s death, however, the other goes to the grave alongside her. I am not jesting. I won’t let my wives turn the realm into a battleground of petty feuds.”

Silence dropped like a stone, the weight of my warning plain. The two girls had stiffened, especially Margaery.

“The realm needs stability,” I continued, “not more wars fought with poisons or daggers in the dark. You can compete for my favor all you want, but don’t forget you both belong to me now.”

Sansa lowered her gaze first. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“As do I,” Margaery said, though a calculating glint still shone in her eyes.

I picked up Margaery’s goblet again, swirling the wine. The tension was thick in the air—and it was pleasantly enjoyable. Two clever, beautiful women, each eager to outshine the other, with me holding all the cards.

“Good,” I said, lifting the goblet in a little toast. “Let’s enjoy tonight, then. It’s not every day a dragon marries two brides.”

….

As we continued chatting about different topics, nightfall settled in, shifting the energy in my chambers. However, it was the same outside. I could hear footsteps and gossip outside the door, so the steamy part of the night would have to wait a bit longer until the guests left the corridors.

Lamps and braziers threw dancing shadows across the walls, lighting up old Targaryen artworks—dragons soaring, ancient conquests, and the glory of my ancestors long before me. It reminded me of a rich history that I’d never seen.

I was in bed now, sitting between the two ladies and chatting. Moonlight mixed with the city lights of King’s Landing came from the window, illuminating the room further.

Now and then, Sansa’s fingers traced shapes on my thighs, like she was gathering her thoughts—or her nerve—for the night to come. In the meantime, Margeary’s hand openly caressed my chest.

The silk of Margaery’s gown made soft whispers with each move. She couldn’t stop glancing at Sansa’s way, calculating her every breath. For the last few minutes, I was the one doing most of the talking. The silence between the girls felt so tight it could snap any second.

“A moment,” I said as I rose and walked over to the table. I picked up a bowl of blood oranges and slowly chose one, letting the sharp scent fill the room as I peeled it. I pretended not to notice their unspoken standoff, but I took in every bit of tension.

Finally, Margaery spoke, unable to resist another jab. “The night’s deepening. Soon, the sweet times will begin… I wonder, Lady Stark,” she said, her tone sweet on the surface but laced with venom, “if you even know how to keep a king warm in bed. The North can be so chilly.”

I held back a laugh behind a piece of orange, watching Sansa’s shoulders go stiff. She turned from watching my back to staring at Margaery, her face calm despite the blush creeping up her neck.

“We… we Northerners have our own ways,” Sansa answered, her voice steadier than I’d expected. “I’m sure His Grace will enjoy a little variety more than… the same old thing.”

Oh, she’s getting bolder. The little wolf was showing some bite.

Margaery’s smile tightened a fraction, but she recovered quick. “How quaint. Though we in the Reach treat pleasure like a fine art—studied as carefully as a maester studies his books.”

“And yet all that studying didn’t keep your first husband interested,” Sansa retorted, then her cheeks flushed, like she wished she could take it back.

Margaery’s eyes flashed. “Careful, dove. Some birds keep singing right up until someone wrings their neck.”

I dropped the orange peel into a silver dish, and both went silent, turning to me. I stared at them, crossing my arms and letting them feel the weight of my presence.

“I thought I made my words clear, Lady Margaery. You can bicker all you like,” I said in a soft but edged voice. “I’m even entertained by your rivalry. But don’t cross the lines. Threats fall under that line, as well.”

They watched me, catching the threat loud and clear.

Margaery’s face had gone pale, and she was about to apologize, but I spoke over her. “We need stability,” I went on. “I don’t know how seriously you’re taking this, but I’m seeing hundreds of years ahead. If you’re considering benefits for your current family who’d be dead in a few decades, let me warn you to be careful.”

Sansa was the first to dip her gaze. “Understood, Your Grace.”

“I- I apologize,” Margaery said, quick to lower her head.

A knock on the door broke the tension. One of the Kingsguard spoke through the heavy wood. “Your Grace, the corridors are cleared. All the wedding guests have turned in or left.”

“Excellent,” I replied. “No disturbances ‘til morning. No matter what.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Footsteps faded away, leaving the three of us in silence. I walked to the door and slid the iron bolt across. The deep sound of it locking shut seemed to seal us off from the outside world.

Turning back, I saw Margaery standing tall, confidence returning to her posture, while Sansa stared at us with a flush in her cheeks. I looked at them both, a slow grin spreading across my face.

“So…” I said, stepping closer, “shall we find out whose drink I really prefer?”

Both of them paused as I smirked, letting my gaze rake over them both. I leaned back against the carved bedpost. "Strip."

Margaery's fingers went to her laces without hesitation, that Reach-girl grin sharpening as emerald silk pooled at her feet. Sansa fumbled with her northern clasps, cheeks burning crimson as her dress slid down generous hips.

I drank in the contrast. It was a sight to behold, worthy of a king.

Margaery's compact curves, all honeyed skin and rose-tipped breasts bigger than my palms, versus Sansa's long-limbed fullness, her body soft and pale as winter moonlight with nipples like dusky pink berries. Her breasts were much larger, too.

I wasn't the only one who noticed Sansa's fullness. Marg's brows twitched upward when Sansa's shift fully fell—surprise flickering before she masked it with a purr.

"W-well then," she cleared her throat and drawled, trailing a finger down her own stomach, "I hope you won't toss a coin this time… Who would you like first, Your Grace?”

I locked gazes with her, and then reached out and hooked Sansa's wrist, yanking her onto the mattress. She yelped, collapsing against me with a breathy laugh that grew into a moan when I gripped her chin.

"The night should start with virgin blood first," I murmured, thumb brushing her lower lip. "Don’t worry, little wolf—I’ll make it sweet."

Sansa's beautiful tully-blue eyes trembled. Her pulse rabbited beneath my palm as I claimed her mouth, all trembling innocence and hesitant licks.

Margaery huffed at the loss but settled cross-legged beside us, eyes gleaming like a cat watching sparrows.

Slow as a summer storm, I peeled Sansa's smallclothes away, mapping every flinch and gasp. She arched when I thumbed her nipples—sharp little noises escaping as I swirled my tongue around each peak.

"G-Gods," she let out a whimper, thighs clamping around my wrist when I trailed kisses down her quivering stomach. She tasted better than the drink she brought me.

"Which ones?" I chuckled against her inner thigh, biting just hard enough to make her jolt. "You've abandoned your previous ones already."

Her protest dissolved into a keening wail as I finally tasted her, fingers stretching her open while Margaery leaned closer, biting her own lip. “I'm so jealous right now, Your Grace.”

“The fruit of patience is sweet,” I told her while my focus remained totally on Sansa.

Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, back bowing off the bed as my mouth slipped between her thighs.

Minutes passed as my lips trailed kisses, and my tongue worked her toward the edge only to pull back—three times—until tears streaked her temples. The room was growing heavier.

"P-please," she sobbed, hips bucking. “S-stop with your tongue, Your Grace~ I- I'm wet enough…”

“I can feel that,” I said, withdrawing my face and wiping my lips with a smile. I heard her heart thump loudly as she enjoyed the view.

I loomed over her, shedding my doublet with deliberate slowness. Her eyes widened at the muscles that rippled with the smallest movements.

"Look into my eyes, Sansa," I ordered, while my hips positioned between hers. “It won't hurt.” She listened, nodding slowly.

Then, I thrust in with a single, slow stroke. Her cry filled the room, and virgin blood dirtied the sheets.

[You have claimed a virgin.]

[Skill: ‘Dragondick - E’ is responding strongly!]

She screamed, nails scoring my shoulders as her blood slicked my thighs. Margaery's breath hitched—whether from arousal or envy, I couldn't tell.

"Move with me," I said, catching Sansa's hips as she whimpered. “The pain will go away, trust me.” I promised her while focusing on my Skill.

I started to move. Slow at first, then deeper, harder, until her cries turned guttural. Sansa Stark's beautiful, curvy body wet with sweat. Her beautiful body trembled for me as she took my length to the base. She was a tall girl, so she didn't disappoint me.

“Oh, fuck, Viserys. I loveee this,” she let out a harrowing gasp, eyes rolled back to the ceiling, as I hit her depths.

Sansa couldn't hold on for long. Thanks to my Skill, her pain had long turned into pleasure, so her climax ripped through her like wildfire. Her back arched and mouth gasped silent pleas to gods long forgotten.

With a grunt, I pulled out at the very last second with a tight pop, smearing my seed across her swollen lips and lovely tummy. I didn't want to create any heir just yet.

I breathed heavy for a moment, staring down at the panting Sansa. “You did well for your first time,” I said, leaning down to kiss her. Sansa accepted me like a hungry beast, lips slamming into one another, her teeth drawing blood. I laughed at her roughness.

"Alright. Now clean this," I ordered as I brought my drenched, still hard cock near her mouth. "As your equal, Lady Margaery deserves a clean cock too."

“I understand…” Trembling, Sansa Stark obeyed—tongue darting shyly until I fisted her hair and made her take me deep. Her eyes teared, but she held in, as I poured some remaining drops inside her mouth.

When I pulled out of her mouth, smirking at her well-used face, Margaery was on me before I could blink. She nipped at my jaw as she ground against my thigh. "My turn, love. You won't keep me waiting, will you?" she breathed, all heat and honeyed venom.

“No. Let's get to it,” I flipped her onto her stomach, ignoring her yelp as I slammed into her from behind. Margaery came for me immediately, moaning like a whore rather than a Queen. I loved that sound.

The bedchamber echoed with Margaery's theatrical moans and Sansa's drowsy whimpers until dawn streaked the sky.

By morning, both of my wives lay tangled in sweat-damp silks—Sansa’s tear-streaked face pressed to my chest, Margaery’s small satisfied smirk pressed to my shoulder.

Neither were queen, but both were mine.

Admittedly, I loved this night more than the others.

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