[85] To Protect the Realm

Chapter 85: To Protect the Realm

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Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting golden streaks across our tangled limbs. I'd been awake for some time, savoring the weight of two gorgeous women pressed against me. It truly was a sight that I could never have enjoyed back on Earth.

Sansa's auburn hair spilled across my chest, Margaery's arm draped possessively over my stomach. Both had their own charms, and I savored it all with my arms around their bodies.

Margaery stirred first, those doe eyes fluttering open with practiced precision. It was as if she’d learned how to wake up gracefully. She stretched like a cat, her breasts pressing against my side. "Mmm... good morning, dearest husband."

“Morning,” I said. Our movements disturbed Sansa, who slowly blinked awake. She let out a small gasp before remembering where she was. The blush that crept up her neck was delightful.

"Sleep well, little wolf?" I asked, stroking her cheek.

"I— yes," she mumbled, pulling the sheet higher despite the intimacies we'd shared hours before.

Margaery chuckled. "How can you still be shy, Lady Stark? After all that howling last night?"

"I didn't howl," Sansa protested, though her lips curled upward. “I remember you doing all the howling, despite being a pristine flower in public. How scandalous.”

"How is it scandalous to become a direwolf in heat for my husband?" Margaery teased, reaching across me to tap Sansa's nose. “You should be learning from me. Not that your performance was any less fun. I suppose you northerners are always... passionate about your first hunt."

Rather than shrinking away, Sansa surprised me by arching an eyebrow. "At least mine was genuine. Your performance sounded practiced—like you'd memorized when to moan."

I laughed, feeling Margaery grumble beside me. "You think I have to fake it when my King’s cock is that huge? You stupid—" Margaery began before dissolving into giggles herself. "... Never mind. Perhaps I should give you lessons. A queen needs refinement."

"We're not queens yet," Sansa reminded her, trailing fingers along my collarbone. "Though I think I impressed our king well enough."

"Confident now, are we?" Margaery purred, pressing a kiss to my jaw. "I think we need another... competition."

I caught both their hands as they slid beneath the sheets. "Later, my eager wives. The realm won't rule itself, and I've dragons to feed."

Margaery pouted. "Surely Viserion can wait."

"Dragons wait for no man," I said, sitting up despite their protests. "Not even kings. I want you to know that while I have control over her in person, she might rampage and destroy things in my absence. We can’t risk that."

Sansa leaned back against the pillows, her hair a fiery halo as sunlight reflected off it. "Will you come back soon?"

"Missing me already?"

"She's just worried I'll win your favor while you're gone," Margaery said, stretching languidly.

"You're talking like you’re going with him," Sansa replied with newfound boldness. “If you are, I am too.”

“Perhaps another time, dear wives. You’ll get much time to play with Viserion,” I said, and for a minute more, I watched these powerful women from ancient houses, now giggling like tavern maids in my bed.

It was a pleasant morning indeed, but beyond these walls, the game continued. Faegon breathed, and Daenerys gathered strength across the sea. The realm needed a firm hand.

****

The realm faced real dangers. Ones that wouldn't wait while I played the happy husband.

The White Walkers loomed beyond the Wall. I knew the danger of that from the TV show—an army of the dead that would sweep south and destroy everything in its path. But this world was different now. With me on the throne instead of Joffrey, perhaps that future could be avoided entirely. I had to prepare for that.

I needed to send people north, strengthen the Night's Watch, perhaps even commission new weapons made of dragonglass from Dragonstone Island. Castle Black needed men—not criminals but trained soldiers who understood the gravity of their mission.

Then there was Dorne. The Sand Snakes' betrayal still stung, but it pointed to something more concerning. Prince Doran was playing his own game. How involved was he with that fake Aegon bastard? Where did my Dany fall into all this? They’d definitely try to use her.

Tywin Lannister remained a problem as well. He'd retreated somewhere after Joffrey's execution, nursing his wounds and his pride. Perhaps in Casterly Rock, or perhaps somewhere else entirely. I didn’t know, so I couldn’t just fly over there. The old lion wouldn't stay quiet for long. He'd be plotting, gathering forces, waiting for the right moment to strike back at me for killing his grandson. I'd need to deal with him soon.

Despite all this, the most pressing concern was the echo from across the Narrow Sea—my sister Daenerys.

"Your Grace," Pycelle began as he sat at the Small Council table, his voice wavering, "we've received troubling reports from across the Narrow Sea."

I leaned back in my seat. "Go on."

The Small Council chamber in the Tower of the Hand felt cavernous with so many seats empty. Mace Tyrell occupied the Master of Coin's chair, looking as puffed up as ever in rich green velvet. Ros sat where Varys once had, dressed more modestly than in her brothel days but still with a hint of her former profession in the cut of her gown. Grand Maester Pycelle trembled in his seat, chains rattling with each movement.

The Hand's chair remained conspicuously vacant. I hadn't decided who to trust with that position yet.

"Your sister, Daenerys Targaryen, has conquered Yunkai. Her forces now march on Meereen." Pycelle's eyes darted nervously. "She commands an army of Unsullied and—forgive me, Your Grace—two dragons."

Mace Tyrell shifted uncomfortably. "Two dragons? Gods be good."

The little girl I'd once sold to Khal Drogo had hatched two dragons and was conquering cities in Essos. Just like in canon. But things were worse here than canon. I remembered how we'd left things—with me holding a sword to her belly, threatening her unborn child as I stole one of her dragon eggs. She wouldn't have forgotten.

Would she sail to Westeros seeking vengeance? Would she fall for Varys’ trap? That spider should be traveling to her by now, along with Tyrion Lannister. Or would she be wise and just remain in Meereen and rule that place?

Either way, I couldn't ignore her growing power.

"The Mother of Dragons, they call her," Ros added. "My little birds say she's freed slaves by the thousands. They worship her like a goddess."

Pycelle cleared his throat. "If I may, Your Grace... there is some confusion about your relationship with your sister. The citadel has inquiries about—"

"My sister and I parted on poor terms," I cut him off. "I lied to some people before, but we’re not on good terms. She wants to kill me for the things I did. Be sure everyone knows about this so that they don’t blindly trust her. She likely believes I'm still the frightened fool who sold her to the Dothraki. She doesn't know who I've become."

"Will she sail for Westeros, Your Grace?" Mace asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

“She might. I’m unsure. But to be fair…”

I tapped my fingers against the table, considering. I don’t have to remain unsure. I could fly to Meereen on Viserion and confront Daenerys directly. Why waste time when I had the means to cross the Narrow Sea in days rather than weeks?

Although there was the risk of Viserion fighting against two dragons, I was confident she’d live at least even if she couldn’t win against both.

I could see her dragons with my own eyes, gauge her strength, and perhaps even forge an alliance. No matter what, she was my sister. Our past… when we grew up together… memories were vivid. That was why I didn’t kill her back then.

But there were matters demanding my attention here first.

"Before I make any decisions about my sister, there are pressing matters to address," I said. "Many, many matters. Regarding the Wall in the north, among other stuff. I’ll talk to Robb about this. We also need to select new Kingsguard and appoint a Lord Commander. The White Cloaks were Lannister men—we need knights loyal to the dragon now. We’ve also got to make sure the Citywatch is in good hands. Summon the current Commander of the City Watch—Ros, fit that into my schedule.”

Ros nodded. "Understood. I also have names to suggest regarding the Kingsguard, Your Grace."

"Good. I also need to summon Yara Greyjoy to discuss the Iron Fleet. Send her a letter." I turned toward Mace Tyrell, who was still sweating despite the cool morning air. "On another more important topic, Lord Mace, about the Iron Bank's loan..."

The meeting unfolded. The table overflowed with urgent matters: the White Walkers, Daenerys’s rise in Essos, the turmoil in Dorne, and the ever-watchful Tywin. Amidst these political intricacies stood two brides, each vying for the crown.

A new game was about to commence, one that would test every vow, every alliance, and the very blood in my veins. I’d make my moves carefully, for the next step could tip the scales of the entire realm.

It was harder to hold the throne than claim it.

I had no intention of losing the throne I’d paid so dearly to claim.

**

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