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“Naejot māzīs, Vermitos.”
Queen Rhaenyra’s perfect Valyrian rang out through the dragonpit, commanding everyone’s attention. The group of dragonseeds gathered around her watched in fear and nervousness, though perhaps excitement for some. Mysaria could feel it in the air even as she stood off to the side of the group.
Footsteps started to crumble from deep in the volcanic pits as The Bronze Fury stepped up to the dragonmount, the legends of the great beast did not exaggerate.
“Vermitos, Lykirī,” Rhaenyra says calmly as if a great God had not just growled at her. “Lykirī.”
Mysaria stepped closer, the pull she has felt for weeks since arriving on Dragonstone drew her closer to her Queen’s orbit. She has seen the queen with Syrax, the bonded pair were effortless together. Seeing her command this large dragon was something else entirely to the young she-dragon.
“Dohaerās!” The Queen commands and the beast listens. Even it can sense her power.
Serve.
The word sparks something deep inside her. An aching, burning feeling deep inside her abdomen.
Mysaria swore an oath to herself to never serve another, but standing in the presence of the rightful heir to The Iron Throne, she finds herself accepting the Valyrian command with a fire in her that she has never felt before, as if Rhaenyra herself has filled her with dragonfire that can not be extinguished.
Standing on the battlements of Dragonstone, Mysaria watches as the large she-beast Vhagar chases after Silverwing and her new rider on their way back to the island. Rhaenyra stands with her own dragon and Vermithor behind her. Roars fill the air as the dragons call out to their foe.
Vhagar and her rider must realize what has happened, that there are new claimed dragons on Team Black, because the two fly off, back towards Kingslanding.
Mysaria’s eyes leave the sky and go to her Queen. She wishes to know what is going through her mind, to know the triumph she must feel. Her head is turned up, shoulders straight and rigid as she watches her half-brother fly away. That fire in Mysaria’s body feels as if it is being fanned, growing larger by the second. An ache forming that she knows can only be soothed by one person on the island.
It was risky, she knows this, yet her feet still take her through the castle to Rhaenyra’s bedchambers. Her handmaidens are already preparing the room for their Queen’s return before she turns in for the night.
“I can finish that,” Mysaria says to the young girls as she steps into the room. “I have something I wish to discuss with the Queen when she returns.”
The girls look between themselves as if silently questioning if they should leave this strange foreigner alone in the Queen’s bedchambers, but finally they agree and leave the room.
The room is quiet apart from the cracking of the fire and the sound of waves hitting the rocky shores outside the castle. It takes some time before the doors open again, mumbles of conversation happen as the Queen bids her Queensgaurd a good night.
“My lady,” The Queen speaks as she stops just a few feet from the now closed door. “Forgive me, I was not expecting your company.”
“Would you have preferred I inform your Queensgaurd?” Mysaria asks with a raised eyebrow.
For a moment she thinks she had misstepped, that The Queen truly did not welcome her to her bedchamber and was unhappy with her, but then the hard mask she wears around the castle falls away. A sliver of a smile forms on her lips.
“No, it is a pleasant surprise.” Rhaenyra walks further into the room, stopping a few feet away from Mysaria. “Have you come to discuss our great victory today?”
“Aye,” she says with a hum. “It was a great victory, indeed. Two new dragonriders have joined your ranks and now Team Green knows your power.”
“It is all thanks to you, my lady. Without you, I fear we would never have found them.”
“The smallfolk have always been the sleeping army that the nobles overlook.”
“I don’t wish to overlook them,” Rhaenyra speaks true, her words earnest.
“No, you don’t,” Mysaria agrees before walking closer to her Queen. “I believe you have the power to restore the peace your father created. The usurpers will not sit your throne for long.”
“I hope you are right,” Rhaenyra says as her mask cracks a little more.
Closing the gap between them, Mysaria raises a hand to cup her Queen’s cheek and looks into her violet eyes. “You must believe in yourself, your grace.”
The younger woman watches her for a moment, perhaps considering her next move. Shall they repeat their embrace that was interrupted in the library days ago? Or shall they keep those feelings locked away? Perhaps the latter option was the safer option, the smarter option, but Mysaria has a fire burning in her and she hopes her Queen can feel it where their skin touches. She knows there is a fire burning in her too, one that is begged to be released and to take root. There is no denying it, she felt the way the flames nipped at her lips as they shared a kiss.
As much as Mysaria wanted to embrace her again, she stayed still, waiting for the dragon to decide. Shall she be devoured or left aside?
The answer is devoured.
Rhaenyra finally surges forward and captures her lips in a piercing kiss. It is not slow or gentle like before, they do not hesitate or wonder if this is something they should be doing. Instead, it is hot and burning. Her Queen’s hands grab at the loose fabric at her waist, pulling her closer.
The fire that burns in her bursts free as she feels the other’s tongue push past her lips and licks into her mouth.
Mysaria has been thinking of this for days, as much as she had tried to keep the images out of her mind, it always seemed to go back to the library. She’s had many lovers throughout her years, one was even shared by the Queen herself, yet none has made her feel like this. As if she was suffocating and the only air she was able to breathe came from her lover’s lungs, and based on the way Rhaenyra was kissing her, she could only assume that the feeling was mutual.
Rhaenyra breaks the kiss first and Mysaria can’t help the whine that escapes as she does, but it is quickly morphed into a moan when lips are attached to the side of her neck, kissing and biting the soft skin there.
“Your Grace,” she sighs.
“Yes, my lady?” Rhaenyra says against her skin, her breath hot and a little ragged against her. Clearly the Queen was just as affected and needy as Mysaria has felt for days.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, finding the courage to speak her mind to the Queen. “I wish to please you.”
Rhaenyra pulls away from her neck to look her in the eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, only a sliver of violet shown through the edges of her dilated pupil. She seems to be at a loss for words, eyes darting over Mysaria’s features.
“Have you ever laid with a lady, your Grace?”
The Queen’s face grows red at this. “No, I have not. Not from lack of desire, just-” her words trail off and she seems to understand.
Mysaria, hand toys with the braid at the back of her head. “Don’t you worry, your Grace, I find it much more pleasurable than laying with a man.”
“Is that so?”
“Shall I show you?”
Rhaenyra sucks in a sharp breath. She can almost see the flames in her Queen’s eyes. “Please.”
She doesn’t waste any time, recapturing her lips in fiery passion. Her hands go to the Queen’s hips and direct them both backwards until the other’s thighs hit the table that sits in the middle of the room. The flames of the candles dance erratically at the force of them.
Her fingers start working on the laces and clasps that hold together Rhaenyra’s dress. The elegance of the garment proved to make this undressing much harder than Mysaria would like but she is no stranger to undressing nobel men and women.
Finally, the fabric falls open, revealing what her queen kept concealed beneath. Her pale skin bared for her, lines and scars speckled her body with years of stories Mysaria had only heard whispers of.
The Realm's Delight.
The name was apt. Thirty years and six pregnancies later and Rhaenyra Targaryen was still one of the most beautiful women in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Mysaria surges forward, lips pressing against her chest between her breasts. She can feel the Queen’s heart racing beneath her lips.
She kisses along on breast before attaching her mouth to a nipple, tongue circling and flicking against the stiff bud. A gasp falls from the Queen’s mouth, hands quickly moving to tangle in dark hair. Mysaria finally leaves her breast and continues her travels south until she has to drop to her knees in front of her.
When Rhaenyra took her into her service, Mysaria never bent the knee. She swore her allegiance but it was not custom for ladies to bend knees. Yet here she was, on her knees for her Queen, ready to serve her.
“Say the word,” Mysaria says, looking up at her as she presses kisses to the inside of her thighs. Rhaenyra looks down at her with a half confused expression. “I want to serve you.”
Understanding seems to dawn on her. “Dohaerās.” The word rolls off her tongue with as much precision as it did in the dragonpit earlier. It has the same effect on her as it did then, the ache and fire inside her burning ten times hotter now as she knelt in front of her queen.
With her permission granted, Mysaria buries her face between her Queen’s legs. Her tongue swipes against her and it is clear by the wetness coating her tongue that the Queen has wanted this just as much as she.
One of Rhaenyra’s hands leaves her head to grip on to the edge of the table that was holding her up, the other still held a firm grasp on the brunette as she began to work.
She started slowly, working her up and collecting her wetness before moving up to show her clit the attention it deserves.
“Oh seven hells,” Rhaenyra gasps. Mysaria’s eyes open and look up at her Queen as she wraths above her. The image was perfect, something she could only hope to keep burned into her memory forever.
Focusing on her work, Mysaria sucks on the bundle of nerves, flicking her tongue against it in the hopes of pulling more sounds from the Queen. She knew they should keep their voices down, her queensgaurd was just outside the door, perhaps listening, but in the moment, Mysaria couldn’t find it in her to care what they thought. All that mattered was her Queen.
Moans fill the air as Rhaenyra gives in to her pleasure, her hips rock and cant against Mysaria’s tongue. When she feels she’s worked her up enough, the lady pushes two fingers inside her with an easy glide. The wetness makes it hard to find friction but that doesn’t stop her, she finds a steady rhythm that has the Queen panting above her before she starts to curl her fingers, pressing against the spot she knows will drive her mad.
The hand on her head tightens impossibly, pushing her head closer to her as if she was scared this would all stop if she let go. The thighs bracketing her head seemed to tighten as well, pressing against her ears and muffling the beautiful sounds the Queen was making.
Her tongue and fingers work in tandem, pushing Rhaenyra closer and closer to the edge and begging her to fall. She can feel the way her walls tighten around her, squeezing her fingers and making it harder for her to pull and push but she keeps going, she knows she can’t change anything and risk losing this feeling.
It doesn’t take long until the Queen falls apart with a moan that rings off the stone walls. The hand on Mysaria’s head leaves her and moves to her mouth if the new muffled sounds are anything to go off of.
Her mouth leaves Rhaenyra’s clit but her fingers work her through her orgasm. “You sound so beautiful, my Queen, do not hide it.”
She watches as Rhaenyra drops her hand and grips the table instead. Soft moans and heavy breathing dance to her ears.
“That’s it, so good, so beautiful,” Mysaria praises as she kisses along her thighs. “You are a Goddess.”
Her words seem to spark something in Rhaenyra because she can feel her walls tightening against her still moving fingers and suddenly, Rhaenyra is coming again. This time it was much quieter and quicker than the first but it seems to take them both by surprise.
When Rhaenyra finally comes down and her breathing returns to normal, Mysaria removes her fingers from inside her and plunges them inside her mouth. She moans to herself as she takes in the taste of her Queen, cleaning her fingers as she rises from her knees.
She opens her eyes and sees her Queen watching her with a hunger in her eyes. Rhaenyra captures her lips again, tongue going straight into her mouth and licks as if she wants to taste herself.
The night is young and her Queen doesn’t seem to want to stop yet.