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"Leave," Maegor ordered as he passed through the doors of his quarters in Dragonstone.
The three servants attending Rhaena quickly did a courtesy and hurried out of the room. One of them even trembled as she passed him. It wasn't a reaction he wasn't used to.
The doors were closed, and finally he was alone with her.
His wife. His queen. His sweet niece.
Rhaena was sitting on the bed, wearing nothing more than a thin nightgown. Maegor could see the outline of her beautiful breasts through the fabric, and the shadow of silver curls that adorned her succulent cunt. Even after being taken so many times by him, she still looked like an innocent virgin, with her big, clear eyes and her small, fragile frame like a porcelain doll.
I could have enjoyed this sight much sooner, he thought, circling the bed.
When Rhaena was born, Maegor's mother, Queen Visenya, proposed a marriage between them. Had it not been for the foolish Aenys and the High Septon, Maegor might have begun to enjoy the sweet nectar between her legs as soon as she had blossomed.
But instead, he was tricked into marrying Ceryse Hightower. He wouldn't lie and say he didn't at least enjoy the marital bed. At the height of his thirteen-year-old vigor, he took the older woman so many times on their wedding night that the sheets were soaked with cum and blood the next day.
But the slut was sterile. No matter how many times he fucked her, nothing seemed to be able to swell her useless womb.
He eventually took a second wife. Alys Harroway, despite her noble blood, was as promiscuous as the cheapest whore in Flea Bottom. They lived good days and even better nights in Pentos, some even in the company of other women. But time showed that, like Ceryse, Alys was unable to conceive.
But then foolish Aenys named his pathetic son Aegon the rightful heir to the throne and Prince of Dragonstone. Maegor's title. The home where he was born and for years run by his mother.
Soon Maegor was on Balerion's back, flying back to Westeros to claim what was rightfully his.
By luck or fate, he landed on Dragonstone on the night of Prince Aegon's wedding to Princess Rhaena.
He didn't even remember what she looked like. Many years had passed since he had last seen his niece, when she was still a small child.
But when he arrived in Dragonstone, Rhaena was already a woman. She had long silver hair, the same color as his own, a soft and sweet face, porcelain white skin, full red lips that begged to be kissed and bitten.
Maegor decided that night that he would take something more than just the crown.
He would take his queen.
He kidnapped Rhaena that night, everything else forgotten other than the uncontrollable hunger to take and taste her. He dragged her by her hair through the dark corridors of Dragonstone, covering her screams with his hand, and forced her onto Balerion with him, taking her to a small island nearby.
With her still in her wedding attire, he pushed her skirts up and buried himself in her wet heat like a starving man. He couldn't think of anything else other than the need to claim her, to make her his.
"My sweet niece," he whispered into her ear in High Valyrian as she cried from the force of his thrusts, "My sweet little niece."
He wondered what Aenys would say if he could see them at that moment. The way Maegor dishonored the princess like an animal, amid the damp earth that stained the expensive, light fabric of her wedding dress. The way she screamed for him to get off her, the tears that ran down her cheeks, the bites spread across her neck, shoulders and the tops of her breasts.
He had flown to take Dragonstone, but ended up taking something much more valuable. Rhaena's maidenhead.
When he disentangled himself from her, blood stained the princess's thighs and his cock. Proof of her innocence.
Maegor took her again when he remembered that, had he not arrived in time, it was the pathetic Aegon who would be between her legs that night.
The thought filled him with more anger than he thought possible.
A few days later, Aegon was dead by Maegor's hands. And it wasn't long before Aenys died too.
Maegor was finally able to take Rhaena back to Dragonstone. It wasn't difficult to get rid of Ceryse and Alys, who were soon returned to their parents, and Maegor was finally able to marry Rhaena.
His sweet, beautiful, pure Rhaena.
Maegor had already fucked more cunts than he could remember. From women from all over the world. But none compared to the one his niece hid so determinedly between her creamy thighs. Perhaps this was the real reason why Maegor's father married both his sisters. Because there was nothing better and more delicious in the world than a Targaryen woman's cunt.
Maegor reached out to squeeze one of Rhaena's breasts, delighting in the way the young girl contracted. She still hated him, he knew. She would kill him if she could. He was fully aware that she hated their coupling sessions as much as he loved them. That she cursed his name and prayed every day that he would drop dead.
But he was a patient man for what really mattered. One day, she would come to his bed willingly. Not because he ordered the maids to bring her. Not because he threatened to kill one of her ladies-in-waiting if she didn't lay with him. But because she would, one day, truly want him. One day, she would wake up with her thighs sticky from the excitement of thinking about him. He wouldn't even need to spit on his own dick to get inside her. She would already be so wet that she would moan with pleasure with each thrust.
One day.
Maybe in a week. Maybe when she swelled with her first child. Maybe when she gave birth for the first time and held in her arms a boy who looked like her hated husband. Perhaps even later, when visits to the king's chambers had become so frequent over the years that she would simply get used to it.
Until that happened, he didn't mind having to take her by force. One way or another, her cunt tasted and felt as good as any day.
Rhaena closed her eyes as he pushed the sleeves of her nightgown down, exposing the bruises and bite marks all over her chest and breasts. A painting of purples and reds that he himself had painted there. A painting he touched up every night.
He wondered what Rhaena's maids or ladies-in-waiting must have thought as they cleaned her the next morning, seeing the imprints of Maegor's fiery passion on the young queen's small body.
He traced the marks with his fingers, bringing the nightgown even lower, feeling Rhaena tremble in a mixture of fear and disgust.
He then pushed her chin up so he could better see the features of her beautiful face. She was already eighteen years old, but the shyness and innocence imprinted on her made her seem much younger than she really was.
"Look at me," he commanded, and she obeyed him after a few seconds.
She had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. An even lighter lilac than his. If they were lucky, their son would inherit those beautiful eyes.
There was nothing better than cumming looking into those eyes. Although Maegor enjoyed taking her from behind like horses did, taking her on her back gave him the even greater satisfaction of being able to watch those eyes watering every time she came for him.
He forced her into a kiss, and she responded with a moan of displeasure. He could bet she had never been kissed by anyone the way he kissed her. The way he assaulted her mouth and bit her until he could taste blood in her mouth.
Just the thought that she had already been kissed by Aegon at the wedding ceremony filled him with furious possessiveness. With a vigor to cleanse any memory she might have of her former brother-husband.
Maegor removed the rest of her nightgown, throwing the thin fabric somewhere in the room. He guided her so she lay down on the bed and spread her legs for him.
Maegor was already hard under his clothes, which were soon discarded on the floor, next to Dark Sister. Stroking her member, he stared at his wife's body as he loomed over her.
He has always been a big man, ever since he was a child. Tall, wide and strong. More than once they compared him to a bull. Some more inexperienced whores even had difficulty taking him inside themselves.
Next to Rhaena, small and fragile Rhaena, Maegor seemed like a mountain. It was never an easy job to force himself within the tight walls of her womanhood, but the effort was always rewarding.
Keeping her thighs open, Maegor leaned in to kiss her cunt lips. No cunt was more beautiful than his niece's. None reached the perfection that was the silver curls of her mound, the pink lips and the little pleasure hole just below. Nothing tasted better than the nectar she kept there. And Maegor made a point of enjoying that banquet whenever he could.
Rhaena shivered as his tongue wandered over her bundle of nerves. And she trembled, once again, when he managed to stick his tongue inside her tight opening, feeling the unique taste of it explode in her mouth.
Gods, he would kill for that. He would die for that. He would live for that.
He put one finger inside, and then two, and then three, in a vain attempt to prepare her for his cock. No matter how much he tried to stretch her, nothing eased the painful stretching of their coupling. Nothing eased the grip killing her cunt around him. It didn't matter how many fingers he forced in there.
Maegor spat at her entrance, stretched by his fingers, determined to make her more slippery. Then, satisfied, he took his cock in his hand and began to force it inside.
It was a heavenly sight. Until that moment he couldn't understand how her little cunt could take his cock so deep. It was an almost disproportionate view, how her lips stretched to the point of almost wrapping around his member.
Rhaena moaned in pain as he entered her. He could almost hear her prayers for this to end as soon as possible. So that he could cum and let her return to her own quarters.
When he was buried to the hilt, he squeezed her throat to open her eyes, renewing the red marks on the pale skin of her neck.
Enveloped by her warmth, Maegor didn't take long to explode inside her, filling the tight space of her womb with his seed.
A seed that, if the gods allowed it, would soon grow into a child within her. A son with silver hair, lilac eyes and blood as pure as any Valyrian's.
He could almost imagine it - her swollen belly, her breasts spilling milk. And then, a perfect baby curled up in her arms, a prince that only she could give him.
And then there would be more. Princes and princesses who would marry each other and continue their lineage on the Iron Throne. Beautiful, innocent girls like Rhaena and strong, brave boys like him.
He would plant them every night in her fertile womb. No matter how much she cried, she was still an eighteen-year-old girl, in the prime of her fertility and health. She would soon be giving birth to his children, he was sure.
Breathing raggedly, Maegor withdrew from inside her. As always, a waterfall of cum flowed out of her distended and used cunt. With two fingers, Maegor pushed the seed back inside, earning another shudder from her.
Rhaena was staring at her ceiling, unmoving, when he crawled to lie next to her. He smelled her hair and held her naked body against him until he fell asleep.
The next morning, he took her once more, lazily thrusting into her as they lay on their sides.
So he had to leave her to take care of the kingdom, feeling the desire to return to the warmth and smell of her cunt as soon as the bedroom doors closed behind him.
…
A few months later, the maester informed Maegor that Rhaena was with a child. The king ordered a banquet to be held and the bells of all the cities to ring in celebration. Rhaena received chests filled with jewels and fifty horses for conceiving the future prince.
She asked the king for her confinement to begin as soon as possible. He didn't allow it, and Rhaena had to continue visiting his chambers until the end of her pregnancy.
…
Aegon Targaryen was born two months earlier than expected, in a difficult birth that lasted three days and three nights. The maester was certain that Queen Rhaena would not survive.
Those who saw the king in those dark days were told that he had gone mad at the prospect that his niece might die in the birthing bed.
But the fears were in vain. Despite losing a lot of blood, Rhaena recovered a few days later and finally met her son, a big, healthy boy who looked just like her.
Maegor named him Aegon, after his grandfather, and placed a dragon egg in his cradle. The celebrations for the prince's birth lasted almost two weeks.
…
His innocent Rhaena caressed her swollen belly with a smile, oblivious to the fact that her brother Jaeherys had been killed just a few days ago. That her sister Alysanne had thrown herself from the top of a tower. That her brother Viserys had been tortured and had his body exposed for days in the castle courtyard.
Of all Aenys's children, Rhaena was the only one Maegor chose to let live. More than that. She was the only person in the world he would die for. Not even their children. Not even his mother.
She didn't even ask about her brothers anymore. Maegor didn't like her leaving his quarters any more than necessary. There, she was safer. There, their children were safer.
Little Aegon played with a wooden sword on the floor. Twins Aerea and Rhaella slept peacefully in their cribs.
Soon there would be one more. And then one more. If it were up to Maegor, they would continue to come one after another, to make up for the years of infertile marriages he had to go through before finding Rhaena.
After years, Rhaena seemed happy. She smiled tenderly as she cooed in Valyrian to the baby growing in her womb. Maegor feared that the hatred she felt for him would be reflected in their children, but that did not happen. Rhaena would kill and die for their babies.
"Uncle," she whispered, when she realized he was standing in the doorway watching her, "Come here."
He did so, surprising himself when Rhaena took his hand and placed it on her stomach.
"Can you feel it?"
He was silent, until he felt movement under his hand. A kick.
"Yes," he replied, looking up to meet Rhaena's beautiful lilac eyes, "Yes, I can."
She smiled in response. So beautiful, so innocent, so perfect...
Maegor pulled her in for a kiss, unable to control himself.
And, just as she had been doing for the past few months, Rhaena kissed him back.