Euron aimed the scorpion. He let the other ships shoot for the green dragon. His eyes were fixed on the bigger one, the black beast that the dragon queen rode. He aimed. Inhaled. Exhaled, releasing the bolt.
It flew true, piercing the black dragon up the soft flesh of its chin, and through the head, the black steel tip bursting out like a rapidly growing horn. The dragon opened its mouth and released a beautiful, painful scream, blood and fire sputtering out its maw, and another scream when the spines of the bolt did even more damage as it moved its head, and another bolt flew from another ship and it ripped through its wing, and Euron was hard under his breeches.
He screamed for his men to stop. They must not hit the Targaryen girl, no. Euron would fuck her first before she could die.
Oh, but he imagined she would be soft and yielding and angry.
Euron barked orders to destroy the enemy’s fleet, one hand palming his cock through his breeches. The lion queen had been surprisingly meek in bed, lying there like a dead fish. It was disappointing, but a queen was a queen, and Euron put a babe in her besides. Luck had it, their son—and it had to be son, now, or else what was the point—would be strong-willed like him and nothing like her or her cripple of a brother. Euron will name the newborn prince after himself. Euron Greyjoy, Second of His Name. King of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, all that shit. Son of a dragonslayer.
Spying a flash of white fur and red fabric, Euron jumped off the deck. He was an ironborn. The strongest of them all. He’d been drowned and brought back to life. It was nothing to swim to her and clutch her tight against his front. The silver queen—a small woman, smaller than he thought she would be—and her heavy furs struggled in his arms with the futility and anger of a much bigger woman, but he pressed a curved knife against her throat.
The men took their time pillaging what was left of the fleet. They brought Euron two Essosi, a woman with dark skin and dark hair and salt-red eyes, and a man even darker, lean and lithe, a vein throbbing in his clenched jaw. Euron only needed one look to tell that they were lovers, and one scream from the silver queen to tell that they were valuable.
The lion queen greeted them in the throne room with a goblet of wine in her hand. Euron never saw her without one, except when he’d fucked her. “My king,” she said, her lips twisting at the word as though it was a mockery. Euron would prove it to her. He had brought her victory to her throne.
“My queen,” Euron said, arms spread wide. He still had saltwater dripping from his clothes, and his breeches clung to his hard cock. He thought he might take the queen on her throne today. Or maybe he’d sit on the throne and the queen would kneel before him, sucking his cock. “I bring you Daenerys Targaryen and her two slaves.” His men dropped them before the dais.
The small dragon queen looked up at Cersei. “They are no slaves. They wear no collar. I claim no ownership of them.”
Cersei sneered. “Then they are of no value to you. Ser Robert.”
“No!” Daenerys screamed, and Cersei put up her hand, halting the giant knight. “No. Let them live.”
“And what will you give us in return?” Euron asked. He had climbed halfway up the dais, and from here he looked down on the small woman, her silver hair, her pretty face. He thought of the curves hidden under those furs, the cunt that would be as pink as her lips.
“You have no more dragons,” Cersei said. “Your Northmen allies are weak, and they don’t trust you because they never trust anyone south of the Neck. I have the Golden Company ready to destroy them at a flick of my wrist.”
Qyburn leaned in to whisper in Cersei’s ear. Euron would kill him. The old man didn’t trust Euron, and so he would prove him right.
“Very well,” Cersei said. “Lock them in the dungeons. The common folk deserve to see their would-be invaders beheaded before them, so they know who protects them.”
The Golden Company men, previously standing around the room like useless statues, bowed and took the small queen and her two Essosi away, and Euron nodded at the ironborn to follow them. That left him and the queen and the old man and the freak.
Euron knelt by the queen’s legs, running his hand up her skirt. “Send them away,” Euron said to the queen. “I’ve wanted to fuck you in this chair since I first saw you.”
The queen kicked off her slippers and ran her toes on his chest, up, up to his shoulder, then—
She kicked him.
The shove was strong enough to send Euron tumbling down to the floor. She stood, her face like a carving of a merling’s face on a bowsprit. “I’ve had enough of you,” she said. As though understanding her and not merely a pile of rocks in a suit of armour, the giant knight moved towards Euron. She continued, “You presume there is a we. You presume to bargain in my place. You have insinuated yourself enough.”
Euron looked up to her, this fierce lion queen, and he regretted that he never fucked this queen.
She drained her goblet and let it fall from her hand, the crystal shattering into splinters. “Thank you for your service to the throne, Euron Greyjoy. Now let us see if your drowned god promised true.”
But she did not see. She threw him one last disgusted sneer, then she left the throne room, just as her knight dropped his boot on Euron’s head.