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Sneaking into White Sword Tower is embarrassingly easy. Lucerys’ great-great aunt, Princess Saera, was but a girl of ten summers when she snuck in and stole white cloaks of the Kingsguard, dying each and every one vivid shades of pink, and now Luke was racing up the stairs of the modest tower without a single member of his mother’s guard there to stop him.
For being the quarters of the finest knights in the realm, it was shameful that a boy of barely fifteen summers was able to slip inside unnoticed and infiltrate the sleeping quarters of the men who pledged their lives to protect those of the Queen and her family with such ease.
Climbing up the smooth white stone stairs, Luke must suppress a laugh at the thought of his mother’s face when she discovers how incompetent her loyal guard — headed by her own brother, no less — were when tasked with monitoring a mere boy. Ser Steffon had been easy to slip away from; the Darklyn knight had become distracted by a passing serving girl and Luke was out of his rooms and racing through the Holdfast before the man even noticed the doors he was meant to be guarding had opened.
It was just barely midday so it was not unusual to find White Sword Tower was empty, considering that each member of the guard had their own responsibilities. Ser Lorent was stationed at the nursery to watch over Luke’s three youngest siblings, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were likely attending to Jace’s training, and Ser Willis and Ser Rickard were at the Queen’s side as she held court.
Alongside his uncle Aemond, of course — the Lord Commander’s place was beside the Queen.
The image of his uncle, tall and handsome, stoically watching over smallfolk as they pleaded their cases filled Luke with equal amounts of jealousy and lust. Luke’s uncle always made a tantalizing sight when he was dressed in his pale cloak and gleaming white armor, Dark Sister resting powerfully on his waist. It was a sight that made Luke’s small clothes grow damp for the first time. The Lord Commander of the Queensguard was skilled, handsome, and regarded as among the strongest warriors in the entire known world. He honored his oaths to a fault and all Luke craved was to see the man break them. To feel his uncle’s hands pressing bruises into his thighs and fill his aching cunt with seed.
Luke was certain that was what his uncle wanted as well. Aemond would always find an excuse to touch him while they trained in the yards — a small brush against the dip of Luke’s waist when fixing his form or wrapping his large, worn hands around his to adjust his hold on the pommel of a sword. The man was nearly twice his age, but that never stopped members of their house; Luke’s own mother had long lusted after her now consort when she and Daemon were about his and Aemond’s age. In the tradition of their house, Luke should have been wedded to his uncle the moment his body flowered. His body ached because it was refused the seed necessary to quicken a babe. It would have been so simple: Aemond would have taken Luke as his bride and together they would bring forth many children to strengthen their house. They would have done their duty and done it enthusiastically.
If it weren’t for those damned vows . Aemond swore his oaths when Luke was but a babe and robbed them both of the life his uncle didn’t know they should have had. If Aemond had just waited, he would have seen what Luke would eventually flower into and the promise of his nephew’s tight cunt would have been more than enough to keep the man from straying to a life of oath-bound celibacy.
Aemond was the rider of Vhagar, wielder of Dark Sister, and brother of the Queen — it would be an utterly heinous sin to see such fine blood go to waste.
Luke only needs to wiggle at the handle of the simple oak door on the uppermost floor of the tower before it creaks open with little resistance. The room itself was a clear reflection of its occupant; the walls of Aemond’s quarters were bare, save for a few simple tapestries displaying the arms of the Queensguard, and the only furniture was a simple wooden bed with matching side tables and a desk beneath a window overlooking Blackwater Bay. The bed itself was draped in starch white fabrics and with the open copy of the Faith on the desk — no doubt a gift from the Dowager Queen — the room resembled those of a pious septon and not a Valyrian prince. Luke’s own rooms were far more spacious and decorated with lavish colorful silks, finery from every inch of the known world giving life to the sprawling quarters. Unlike Aemond’s desk, which seemed to serve as a religious man’s spot of prayer, Luke’s vanity was covered in rare treasures gifted by his grandsire and drawings of his beloved Arrax.
This was a terribly bland place to live . Aemond would be much more comfortable in their shared apartments.
Shutting the door with a soft click, Luke wandered over the large window and peaked out. The sun was still high in the sky, shining down on the dark waters of the Rush, and he could hear the ruckus of a thousand servants milling about the Keep. Around this time, Luke was usually entertaining his younger siblings in the nursery or sitting with his aunt in the gardens. Around this time, Aemond is always watching over court and desperately trying to contain his boredom while greedy street merchants complain about taxes.
Still watching the sea beyond the window, Luke reached down to begin pulling off his clothes. There was a long-standing rumor about Luke’s other great-great aunt, the Princess Viserra. Gossip suggested that not long before her untimely demise, she slipped into the beds of her brother, Prince Baelon, with the goal of making herself his Queen. However, though she was far lovelier than her sister Alyssa ever was, Viserra wished to marry Baelon for ambition and not love, thus her attempt failed.
But it was not ambition that brought Luke to his uncle’s beds — it was fate .
Pulling off his small clothes, Luke leaned forward and peaked out the window; his body was as bare as the day he was brought forth into the world when he stood on the tips of his toes to watch servants mill about. He watches as a squire and serving girl share kisses, nestled against each other in the shadows of a narrow walkway just below the tower. The boy has his hand beneath the maid’s plain skirt and moves it in a manner that has the girl’s mouth hung open in pleasure. The sight makes Luke’s belly squeeze in confused excitement. He was not entirely arrogant to the illicit activities that ran amuck in every nook and cranny of King’s Landing, despite what his mother may think. He knew of the servants that left his Uncle Aegon’s chambers with a shaky limp in their step and the rumors that his cousin-sister, Baela, enjoyed entertaining unmarried sailors on Driftmark. Even Jace admitted to indulging in temptation on the rare occasion he allowed himself a break from the responsibilities of a Crown Prince.
A part of Luke was envious. He knew he was beautiful and there was no shortage of lords or eager knights that would happily warm his beds and pump his womb full of their seed. But when Luke imagined his belly round with child, it was a babe with pale hair and the loveliest violet eyes one would ever see that he would give birth to. His child was not a sailor or a northern wolf or a lion of the rock — it was a dragon that could wield a sword more fiercely than even their sire.
Just the thought of his uncle’s cock inside him makes Luke’s cunt clench with delight. The dips between his thighs grow wet with every step he takes over to the bed, body sagging into the simple yet soft feather mattress as he lies down and lets his legs fall away from each other. His body screams to be touched yet Luke refuses, instead burrowing his face into the linens of the bed and inhaling the scent of his uncle’s musk. The smell alone has his empty holes clenching on nothing but Luke’s fingers are useless in satiating his desires — they always are.
He quickly becomes lost in the smells and his own thoughts. Luke imagines what it will be like when Aemond enters the room and finds him like this; perhaps his uncle will ask him to help remove his heavy armor and the sight of his dear nephew, naked and willing, assisting him like a dutiful wife would finally enlighten him to all that he has been denied. Or, perhaps Aemond will be enraged by the sudden thought that another member of the guard had attempted to force himself upon Luke and would claim the boy’s maidenhead before another could dare try.
The thoughts are so tantalizing that Luke barely notices the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the room. He jerks away from the spot where his face was hidden and sits up eagerly. His cunt is glossy from his own wetness, the sparse hairs shining darker than the hair atop his head, and Luke presses his thighs together shyly. Anxiety and anticipation dance in his belly as he watches the plain silver handle of the door pull down before the wooden door itself pushes open.
There is not even a second to breathe between the moment the door opens and when his uncle sets his eye on him. For what felt like an eternity, the only sound in the room is that of the sea breeze wafting past the window. As expected, Aemond was dressed head to toe in his Queensguard uniform — his jaw length silver-blond hair making him resemble a pillar of light as it blends into his gleaming armor. His gaze is ínstense and Luke tries to match it, but as moments linger on, excitement gives way to anxiety and a rush of embarrassment suddenly overtakes him.
Aemond remained quiet as he stepped into the room and the door closed with a soft click once more. Even with them finally alone, his uncle’s expression remained one of impeccable control.
“Get dressed,” He says, voice chillingly calm. “Now.” Luke blinks up at him, confused. Aemond doesn’t move from his place on the other side of the room but his gaze alone makes Luke feel small. Aemond shuts his eye and takes a deep breath. “Get dressed and return to your rooms, Prince Lucerys. Do that now so that none will have to hear of this. The Queen will be beyond livid if she learns of this… indiscretion .”
Where only moments ago there was anxiety swirling in the pit of his stomach, there is now hot anger. It is always ‘ the Queen this, the Prince Consort that ’ — Luke follows his mother’s commands faithfully yet it is in turn used by others as a means to control him!
He sits up on his knees and glares at Aemond.
“Why?” He asks, but his voice lacks the rage he feels. Instead, it is tinged with pathetic disappointment. “Why must you reject me, Uncle? I come offering myself willingly — I am not ignorant to how you look at me.” Aemond sets his jaw, eye looking anywhere but at the nude boy in his beds. Luke crawls down to the end of the bed and places a foot on the ground, letting what little modesty the sheets gave him fall away. His uncle’s eye remains focused on the white tapestry above the bed even as Luke stands and walks towards him with a sway in his hips like the ladies of the Silk Street do when entertaining brawny hedge knights and wealthy lords. Luke’s body possessed little curve — he was wiry with bird bones, as his uncle so fondly put it whenever Luke struggled to keep up in the training yards. But hours of riding on dragonback had given him strong, toned thighs and a firm ass that manservants and knights alike ogled at when they thought Luke didn’t notice.
Luke was growing into a boy surpassing all others —both men and women alike — in loveliness. Only a fool would deprive himself of such a gracious offer.
Reaching out, Luke carefully runs the tips of his fingers along the breast of Aemond’s chest plate, the metal cool to the touch and completely smooth from expert polishing. His fingers trail down to where leather straps keep the armor fastened into place, but a large hand snatches up his wrist before Luke could fiddle with the buckles.
“You are a petulant child.” Aemond hisses, yanking Luke forward until the younger stumbles against him. “If you intend to play whore, find another man to be your patron. Now get out.”
His uncle attempts to throw him aside but Luke digs his fingers into the man’s armored wrist. “Why? It is not another man that I want, Uncle.” He cries. “And I am not a child! I am of the age when many girls are taken to the marriage bed.” Luke struggles to cling to Aemond and the older man huffs, wrapping an arm around Luke’s waist and flipping him around so his back is held flush to Aemond’s front. Now having pinned the boy in place, Aemond unfastens his own cloak and haphazardly covers Luke in the white fabric.
“You are not my bride, Nephew. I have taken an oath to the crown — to your Mother — and those words may mean little to you, but they are my lifeblood. I will not forsake them for a bored child’s entertainment.” Aemond tightened his hold and Luke whimpered loudly, both pain and arousal shooting up in spine from being handled so roughly. The sudden noise made even Aemond waver with surprise, giving Luke the ample opportunity to wiggle in the elder’s hold and soon he could feel the metal of Aemond’s gauntlet dig into the soft skin of his belly.
Luke’s uncle was a large man — taller than the rest of their family and twice his size and age. When Luke ruts backwards, the swell of his ass just barely brushes his uncle’s groin but it is more than enough. Aemond goes completely still, his large hand still resting on the flat of Luke’s stomach. “You would not be the first honorable knight to indulge in that which you swore off,” The younger sighs longingly. “Nor will you be the last, Uncle. Ser Lucemore Strong had numerous wives — he sired more than a dozen children during his time on the guard.”
“Ser Lucemore Strong was gelded and sent to the Watch for his crimes.” Aemond whispers, his rough voice deeper than it was just moments ago. “Is that what you wish for me as well, taoba ?”
Luke can feel his cunt grow even wetter at just the sound of his uncle’s High Valyrian. “They wouldn’t dare, Qybor . You are still a prince, and I am certainly no common girl.” There is nothing but cold, unfeeling metal behind Luke but with every rotation of his hips he can sense his uncle’s resolve waver ever so slightly. Carefully, Luke places his smaller hand over the one that rests atop his belly and leads it downwards until his uncle’s gauntlet is cupping Luke’s twitching cunt from underneath the modest cloak. “The first time I touched myself was after my nameday tourney the year before last. You looked so fearsome cutting down all those men during the melee, Uncle — my body became so confused. I rubbed my cunt raw and soaked the sheets of my bed just trying to quell the thought of you thrusting in and out of my body.” Luke rocks his hips downward. “I became mindless. No better than a kennel bitch waiting to be mounted and pupped.”
Aemond shudders behind him, “I will not become an oathbreaker. I cannot betray the vows created by our very ancestors.” Despite his words, the cool metal of Aemond’s gauntlet fingers toy with the petals of his nephew’s pussy, mindlessly stretching them open and closed.
“Aegon and Visenya were lovers before they were King and Queen.” Luke breathes, fire pooling at the bottom of his belly. “They were Targaryens first and foremost — what is an oath to a dragon?”
Aemond is quiet for a moment, his fingers continuing to play with Luke’s weeping cunt. Luke rocks against the digits, small whines spilling past his lips every time the metal prods at his slit. With the slightest more pressure, those fingers would slip inside him and Luke shivers at the thought. He wraps his arms around Aemond’s and attempts to cant his hip forward, but as quickly as he made a grab for the limb, Luke is being pushed to the floor. Luke yelps as he falls to the polished stone floors, his knees hitting the ground with a painful thud and making him cry out.
“You are a whore.” The insult makes Luke whine. He struggles, caught beneath the white cloak Aemond had thrown on top of him, and attempts to pull away the fabric from his face when he hears the click of buckles coming undone. “If you wish to act like one, then I will treat you as such.” The cloak is pulled away from Luke’s flailing body and the boy scrambles onto his knees to look up at the older man. Luke’s vision takes a moment to focus, but when it does his breath catches.
Aemond had unfastened the tasses of his armor and haphazardly tossed both it and the belt carrying Dark Sister aside. Without a word, Luke watched as his uncle unlaced his trouser and a surprised squeak tumbles from his mouth when the man pulls out his cock. Luke has seen a man’s cock before — he shared baths with Jace growing up and witnessed Aegon in a drunken stupor more than once, but Aemond’s was utterly intimidating to look at. It was long, thick, and just the sight of the anger looking vein that wrapped around the underside made Luke’s stomach clench.
“Well?” Luke glances up at his uncle, the man staring down at him with an expectant look. “Do tell me you know what to do. Or was your whorish behavior just that of a stupid child playing pretend?” Face growing hot, Luke swallows nervously and reaches forward to wrap his hand around the stiff cock. His hand is barely large enough to circle the girth of the base and it feels warm in his palm. Luke wears at his lower lip, watching the way it twitches in his hand before peaking up at Aemond. The older man looks less than pleased — in fact, he looks far more annoyed than he did just moments ago.
His uncle scoffs. “You really are a stupid boy.” Luke whines, ashamed. Aemond is never this casually cruel to him and what is worse is that it makes Luke’s hole leak with anticipation. “Open your mouth.” Embarrassed, Luke does as he is told. The moment his lips separate, a hand is twisting in his hair and Luke cries out as Aemond forces his cock into his mouth. Luke gags immediately, hands flying up to Aemond’s thighs to grasp at them in panic as his face is pressed closer and closer to the older man’s groin. His uncle’s cock is heavy against his tongue and tastes of salt and sweat, rubbing against the muscle to make spit drip down the corners of Luke’s mouth.
“If you use teeth, I will kill you.” Luke whimpers around his uncle’s cock but listens, letting his jaw go slack so Aemond can thrust forward with ease. Aemond doesn’t even move his hips, instead keeping a strong grip on Luke’s hair so he can force his head down onto his cock. The entire thing cannot fit and Luke coughs the further Aemond tries to force him down. “You come in here with your legs spread and you do not even know how to suck cock? Are you so hopeless that I must teach you everything, Nephew?” Luke nods, hollowing his cheeks and meekly bobbing his head. It is difficult to breathe like this; Aemond holds his face and cants forward like Luke’s mouth is nothing more than another hole to be fucked. Spit covers the lower half of his face, dripping down his jaw every time Aemond pulls him away from his cock. Luke continues to swipe his tongue along the veins decorating his uncle’s cock, lapping at it like it was a sweet handed out by the nice kitchenmaids. The taste of salt is overwhelming — his uncle’s seed leaks from the tip and mixes with Luke’s tears, leaving his entire face wet.
Aemond thrusts forward once more before pulling Luke away and slapping his cock against the boy’s tear stained cheek. Luke flinches at the action but Aemond just laughs. His entire life, Luke never knew his uncle to be cruel. Uncle Aemond was stern yet gentle when necessary — he taught Luke how to wield a sword and took him on trips to the Dragonpit to see Arrax when he was a small boy. From the moment he was born, Luke gravitated towards his uncle. He clung to the knight’s side when he could not cling to his queenly mother and Luke was always an eager pup trailing behind the older man. He could not pinpoint the moment admiration had turned to lust, but Luke had assumed his uncle was as straightforward in lovemaking as he was in life.
“Get on the bed, taoba .”
Luke scrambles from the floor and gracelessly throws himself onto the mattress. He watches as Aemond undoes the fastenings of his gauntlets and sets them aside, leaving the man still in his chest plate. Aemond towers over him on the bed, staring down at him with a mixture of disgust and contemplation; the older man observes him the same way a king looks down at his kill during a haunt, pondering what to do with his fresh game.
“Spread your legs.” Nervously, Luke separates his knees and leans back onto the pillows. It is still bright out and Luke can hear that the Keep is well and alive just beyond the tower. The Lord Commander’s quarters face away from the rest of the Keep and it is impossible that anyone would be able to see into the room, but the thought that someone could witness them in the midst of coupling makes sweat bead along the back of Luke’s neck.
A hand comes down on his spread cunt with a harsh slap and Luke cries out. “You have flowered beautifully, sweet nephew. Shouldn’t you be preserving your maidenhead for whatever lord manages to convince your mother to give him your hand?” Aemond sinks a finger in, curling the digit to poke at the spongy flesh of Luke’s insides. “It is your duty to pump out a few brats in order to secure your little wooden throne, is it not?” Luke mewls, unable to speak. Aemond’s fingers are far thicker than his and he already feels impossibly full as he clenches around them. “Have nothing to say, taoba ? You are a prince of the realm begging to be deflowered like a lowborn lady — you should be showing more shame.”
Luke keens. “Kiss,” He pants, rocking his hips into Aemond’s palm. “Please kiss me, Uncle Aemond.” The older man stares down at him for a moment before scoffing to himself.
“So greedy.” He says, leaning forward and cupping Luke’s jaw. Luke relaxes in his uncle’s hold, tongue sticking out with anticipation and he moans wantonly when Aemond tightens his grip and spits directly on it. Aemond’s mouth presses against his open one and Luke throws his arms around his uncle’s neck. The metal of Aemond’s breastplate turns Luke’s skin to goose flesh but he doesn’t care. Aemond nips at his lips until the taste of blood fills Luke’s mouth and their tongues dance with unpracticed rhythm. Thrusting fingers speeding up, Luke feels his thighs start to tremble and his vision begins to blur.
Aemond’s fingers scissor, spreading his tight walls apart and Luke keens into his mouth. “ Qybor , I feel strange.” The man doesn’t slow down, instead pressing the pad of his thumb to the sensitive mound at the top of Luke’s slit and rubbing at it in quick circles. Luke cries high in his throat, thighs shaking as his cunt spastically clenches around his uncle’s fingers. Sticky slick gushes from within him, his hips still riding his uncle’s hand even as he covers them both wet. Luke’s vision whites for a moment, head sagging into the pillow while Aemond pulls away from his lips with a grin.
“Sȳz taoba.”
Good boy.
Hands cradle Luke’s waist on both sides, thumbs rubbing circles just below his belly button. It’s all so overwhelming; Luke feels like he is on fire — like his blood has been set aflame and now boils under his skin. The head of Aemond’s cock prods at Luke’s entrance and the boy whimpers. “Hush, byka mēre . I will give you what you need.” Despite his fear, Luke pries his eyes open and forces himself to watch as Aemond ruts against the flat of his abdomen.
His uncle’s cock appears dauntingly large on top of his stomach, the tip easily reaching just below his belly button. Eyes widening, Luke looks up with panic when Aemond guides his cock to his awaiting hole.
“It won’t fit.” Luke whispers, fear and lust both clouding his mind. Aemond doesn’t let up. The tip of his cock presses in and Luke’s entire body seizes up. “Uncle! Qybor , it won’t fit — I’ll break! Aemond, I’m going to brea —“
The words die in his throat when Aemond’s cock sinks halfway inside.
For a brief moment, the entire world goes dark. It is like the strained thread that had been holding Luke’s mind together for the past hour had finally snapped and Luke was completely beside himself. Above him, Aemond grunts and pushes the rest of his cock in and Luke finally finds his voice. He wails high in his throat — back bowed like a bow and arrow as his entire body shakes and Aemond squeezes his waist. Luke feels like he is choking; never in his life has he ever felt as full as he currently does. His uncle’s cock is hot and hard and Luke feels like he is melting. The tautness of his muscles bleeds away and Luke goes limp into the soft feather bed.
Aemond begins rocking into him and Luke lets out a choked, near feral sound at the sensation of his uncle’s cock dragging against his walls in a way he has never felt before. Where fear and lust once mingled together in his mind, there is now only pure animalistic lust. His body is split upon his handsome, honorable uncle’s cock and Luke has never felt more complete. Each thrust into his newly deflowered cunt shapes his body to Aemond and Aemond alone — no other man’s cock would ever be able to satisfy him because he was molded to satisfy his uncle.
Panting, Luke opens his eyes and looks up at Aemond from beneath his lashes. His uncle took his oaths when he was still a young man at the prime of his life and now, he looks exactly how a man deprived of his basic needs would. Aemond fucks like starved beast, tugging Luke onto his cock as if the little prince was nothing more than a mindless pleasure boy.
“So tight, taoba . Taking my cock so well.” Aemond growls, body bending forward so he can pound into Luke harder. Reaching down, Luke spreads his cunt so he can watch his uncle’s cock plunge in and out, the shaft messy with red-tinted slick and the beginnings of his seed. Aemond moves his hands from Luke’s waist to beside his head, a single hand threading through the younger’s hair. “Is this what you needed, princeling? Needed Qybor to breed your tight pussy and claim it before your husband could?” Aemond speaks like a madman, so unlike the duty-bound knight he normally was.
Luke nods, still watching Aemond’s thick cock stretch his hole. “ Qybor is so big. You’re kissing my womb.” The head of Aemond’s cock rammed as deep as what may have been physically possible and Luke squealed. “You’re ruining my pussy. Please ruin it with your seed — fill my womb, Uncle.” The words poured out before he could stop them. Suddenly, Aemond yanked Luke’s head upwards until they were looking at each other. Sweat dripped down the older man’s face, dampening his hair, and the chestplate he wore had become foggy to the point Luke could only barely make out his own reflection.
“You will handle this afterwards, Lucerys.” Aemond hisses, voice deadly serious. “I will not sire a bastard on anyone, let alone a prince.” Despite the severity of his words, Aemond continues to mount him like a wild dog. His uncle’s thrusts become sloppy, the sound of his groin slapping against Luke’s cunt filling the room. “Promise me, Lucerys. You do not wish to be saddled with a bastard.”
Our child will not be a bastard , Luke thinks as he nods his head enthusiastically. Aemond stares at him for a moment longer before dropping his head and increasing his pace.
“Fuck,” Aemond moans, gripping at Luke’s waist. “Your cunt is squeezing me so tight.”
Luke whines. “Inside me, Qybor . I’m so close.” He cries out, clinging to the older man’s hands. Grunting, Aemond slams forward so hard Luke swears his uncle’s cock penetrates his womb. Pace becoming sloppy, Aemond suddenly flips Luke onto his stomach and folds himself over his back — an armored arm reaching around to put Luke in a headlock. The boy cries out in surprise, but it is quickly replaced with loud moans of pleasure as Aemond fucks him deeper than was possible before. Luke claws at the arm around his throat, breath escaping as Aemond brutalizes his womb harder and harder. He feels impossibly lightheaded, sparks bursting behind his eyes with every cruel slam into his cunt.
Sharp teeth drag down the side of his neck and Luke hears his uncle’s heavy breathing in his ear. “Take it, you whore.” He pants. “Show me that you were worth neglecting my oaths.”
With one final thrust, Aemond tightens the arm around Luke’s throat and grunts, cock jerking inside his nephew’s cunt and flooding his womb with seed. Barely a whimper escapes Luke’s mouth while his greedy cunt milks his uncle for everything he is worth. Aemond fucks him through both of their highs, but all Luke can do is tremble; every inch of his body is on fire and his mind has turned to nothing but ash and molten thoughts. Aemond releases Luke from his hold and the boy sags into the bed, limp.
“Thank you,” He whimpers, face wet with tears and spit. “Thank you, Valzȳrys.”
Luke slips from White Sword Tower as easily as he slipped inside. The sun had finally begun to set when Aemond decided it was time for Luke to leave — it was customary for their family to have supper together and it would be suspicious for them to arrive together.
With a body littered in bites and bruises and both fresh and old seed leaking from him, Luke wandered down the stairs on shaking legs. Aemond had dressed him back into his clothes with calloused fingers and sent him off with a kiss and one last reminder of the promise he forced Luke to make.
Unfortunately, Luke has never had much respect for the sanctity of oaths.