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The sound of her own heartbeat seemed to drum in her ears as she rushed back through the narrow passageway, feeling as if the corridor was closing in on her, trapping her in with what she had seen in Rhaenyra’s chambers. The candle flame flickered desperately, on the precipice of dying entirely, sending shadows dancing on rough-hewn walls like dark creatures belched out of the seven hells.
It had not quieted down even when she was at last back in the safety of her bed, with darkness swept around her like a shroud. She stared unseeingly up in the canopy above her head, hands clenched in the duvet, as her mind churned feverishly, unspooling what she had witnessed through the spy hole again and again.
Mother, forgive me, she prayed silently, blindly, as she saw it before her as surely as if she was still there, secreted behind the wall: Mysaria beneath Rhaenyra, on her knees in front of her, Rhaenyra’s hands upon her, Rhaenyra...
It made her feel physically ill, the weight of what she saw in that room unbearably heavy upon her shoulders, the sinful, dreadful spectacle of it. The incorruptible Queen sullies herself with a lover, Rhaenyra had sneered at Alicent while she herself had been doing that, had condemned herself to the Seven Hells thrice over, taking a woman into her bed.
The image of Rhaenyra and Mysaria, nude and entangled, the cacophony of their shared pleasure, Mysaria’s triumphant gaze upon her seemed seared into her mind as surely as a brand, torching her sanity like dragon’s fire upon stone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, teeth already gnawing at the bed of a nail, sure to drawn blood. Rhaenyra nuzzling into Mysaria’s hair, her fingers disappearing between her legs, Mysaria’s sounds of bliss, Rhaenyra holding her, kissing her, fucking her...
Alicent had to throw the duvet away for fear of melting away, trapped beneath its unbearable heat. She was alight with disgust and horror, her body burning with vehemence at the vile thing she unwittingly watched.
What came back to her, again and again, was the sight of Rhaenyra’s face as she gazed upon the other woman, the softness of it, the desire in it. Rhaenyra’s hands spread upon Mysaria’s body as if in communion with something precious, something holy. Rhaenyra’s hands between Mysaria’s eagerly parting thighs, Rhaenyra’s lustful awe.
She could remember, too, as surely as it had been seared into her flesh, Rhaenyra’s fingers, endless years ago, upon herself, legs opening to the lure of Rhaenyra’s touch, caught up in a storm of need she could not quell, seduced by some form of power she stood completely helpless before, the way she had strained towards it…
She shook her head violently, to dispel the humiliating memory. Her mother had all but shamed it out of her, forcing her to repent endlessly kneeling on the granite stones of the Sept, until her skin was peeled and bleeding, even through the many layers of her dress.
And now Mysaria was repeating that same sin in the bed of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, dragging her filthy, whorish ways into the very heart of the realm, sending her corrupting rot to take seed from within.
She recalled the sound of Rhaenyra’s name upon Mysaria’s lips, the look – Alicent recoiled – on her face as Rhaenyra came inside her, overwhelmed with pleasure, the careful mask she carried in lieu of a face outside those hidden chambers slipping.
Seemingly slipping, she reminded herself, even as she heard again the helpless whimper Mysaria had let out as Rhaenyra…
Alicent pressed the knuckles of her clenched fists to her eyes, vainly attempting to exorcise the images in her mind. As she shifted, her raised nipples brushed against the fabric of her night gown, answered by a dull throb between her legs.
In the many long years since they had been girls together, she had not once allowed herself to think on what had happened in that bed that night, but she did think on it now, helplessly, Rhaenyra’s mouth on hers, her scent, the weight of her body pressing her into the featherdown and what it had done with Alicent, the wetness between her legs, the waking of a need for something she did not even know what it was, knew only that she wanted Rhaenyra near, shifting to get her closer, opening her thighs around her, bucking her hips as she felt Rhaenyra’s fingers at her center, taking them into her…
Unwittingly, unbidden, her own fingers had moved down between her legs, pressing down at the desperate pulse of want at that shameful place through the silk of her night clothes. Her fingertips moved minutely and she gasped at the feel of it, wetness immediately making the fabric slippery, gliding against her.
Disgustingly, appallingly, she continued, helpless to stop, rubbing at herself first tentatively and then harshly through the silk. It was not even pleasurable, just the tepid satisfaction of a base desire, and both the fabric of the gown and the edges of her nails send frissons of discomfort against her with her every movement.
When she finally climaxed, it was with a sob, her hand drawing immediately away, as if burnt.
She waited until her breath had calmed and then threw off the covers. The chill bit into her feet as she sat them down on the floor. She wanted to call for a bath, but instead she had to settle for the basin of ice-cold water in the corner, making her shameful ablutions in the darkness of her bedroom, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.
She went back the next night. Of course she did. Regardless of what she felt at what transpired within the Queen’s chambers, this window into the workings of the Black side was not something she could conceivably ignore. The threat posed by Mysaria to not only Rhaenyra herself but the realm entire was also too heavy to have weigh on her conscience without making use of her every resource to unearth the woman’s secret scheme.
Even so, she tarried, went back and forth in her mind, before she finally went back into the hateful stone passage. The hour was late and despite her goal of securing clandestine information, she found herself hoping she would find nothing but Rhaenyra alone and fast asleep in her bed.
Again, she heard it well before she saw it, the ardent sounds of coupling. She shuttered the lamp she had brought to keep it from betraying her presence and sneaked the last few steps to the spyhole to remain hidden.
After what she had witnessed the previous night, she would have thought nothing could be as shocking, but the display before her was almost too much for her to stomach, all but sending her scurrying right back to the darkened safety of her rooms.
Rhaenyra, still dressed in – from what Alicent could ascertain – some form of breeches and a loose shirt beneath a riding jacket was on her knees before Mysaria, who was reclining naked on the bed, on her elbows, long legs over Rhaenyra’s shoulders as the kneeling Queen – Alicent bit her lip against the queasiness – used her mouth to pleasure the Lyseni woman, hands closed securely around her hips to hold her in place against her face.
And pleasure her she did – Mysaria’s head tipped back, the color in her cheeks high, hips rolling down against Rhaenyra’s face as she moaned as the loose woman she was.
It was certain to be practiced, Alicent thought to herself. No woman could actually raise to the heights Mysaria’s desperate sounds seemed to suggest.
“Gods be good,” Mysaria blasphemed as Rhaenyra hiked her up further, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed. Rhaenyra moaned as if being fed divine ambrosia, rather than humiliating herself between the splayed legs of a courtesan and an enemy of the realm.
“Oh, oh, OH!” Mysaria’s noises of pleasure increased, tresses of her plastered against her face, her chest rising desperately with each rapid breath, spine arching. “Oh, my Queen, how you service me.” She moaned again, one hand going up to grab hold of Rhaenyra’s head to all but hold her in place as she pressed herself more firmly against her tongue. “Oh, oh – Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra.”
She eventually reached her climax, a very loud affair, and Alicent relaxed minutely in her hiding space, shifting against the cold of the wall, relieved that it was over and hopeful for what she might uncover.
On the bed, Rhaenyra had stilled, but not stopped, Mysaria shaking and shuddering with every minute move of her head, until she used her grip on Rhaenyra’s hair to pull her away.
Rhaenyra made a dissatisfied noise. “I am not done with you,” she declared, lifting her face enough to let Alicent see the firelight of the torches reflected in the shine of wetness on her chin and mouth, the hungry gleam in her eyes as she gazed up at Mysaria.
Mysaria dug around among the pillows on the bed before retrieving the sinful contraption they had made of use last night. Rhaenyra stilled as she caught sight of it, her eyes fixed on it. Alicent saw now that it seemed to have scales and a snout in the imitation of a dragon, and again she felt her stomach revolt at the crude vulgarity of it all.
“I want you inside me,” Mysaria told Rhaenyra, using her free hand to caress the line of Rhaenyra’s jaw. “Was this not what you imagined during practice – fucking me, filling me up, taking me?”
Practice? Alicent thought, mind seizing upon what meaning this might hold.
But nothing more was forthcoming – Rhaenyra was already rising, clumsily unbuttoning her doublet. They stripped her together, Mysaria and Rhaenyra, and Alicent had to avert her gaze from Rhaenyra’s nudity as she stood with her back to her, suddenly overwhelmed by something she could not name.
It was quick work to affix the horrible, jutting thing at Rhaenyra’s hips and then they exchanged positions, with Rhaenyra seated on the bed while Mysaria straddled her. The sound she made as she began sinking down on it was indescribable, her body curving sinuously as she took it inside her slowly, evidently luxuriating in the feel. Rhaenyra bent her head to kiss her breasts, sucking a nipple into her mouth.
“My Queen,” Mysaria murmured, face raised towards the ceiling as if in resplendent prayer, her nails digging into Rhaenyra’s shoulders.
Rhaenyra lifted her head anew and took her mouth in a kiss, Mysaria’s hands moving to cup her neck even as she panted, sweat sheening across her collarbones and chest, her nipples erect, shiny with Rhaenyra’s salivia, and her body tensed as a bow as she kept inching down on the contraption.
“Oh gods. Rhaenyra.” Mysaria cast her head back and Alicent shifted, suddenly afraid Mysaria would catch sight of her again, but her eyes were tightly closed, mouth open and panting.
“No one has ever fucked me like you do,” Mysaria said.
It was so obvious a performance that Alicent felt embarrassed for Rhaenyra’s sake, gazing up at Mysaria in complete adoration at the words. No woman had ever enjoyed the sexual act to the extent Mysaria professed to do.
Finally, Mysaria was seated in Rhaenyra’s lap, letting out yet another overly loud moan and shifting her hips, muttering something in what Alicent supposed was Lyseni.
Then she opened her eyes and looked down at Rhaenyra. “Fuck me,” she told the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in a manner that could be construed as nothing but an order.
“As you command, my…” Rhaenyra said, aborting whatever was on her tongue to instead nose at Mysaria’s throat and jaw, eyes closed, while her hands cupped Mysaria’s hips, thumbs stroking across the jutting bone there. “As you command,” she repeated.
Alicent winced as Rhaenyra planed her feet in the floor and thrust up hard into the other woman, but Mysaria only started up her tiresome moaning again, working her hips to meet Rhaenyra’s vicious pace. Alicent knew well enough that it was never wholly pleasurable, or easy, to be entered – even with Criston it had taken sufficient willpower to take him inside her at all, never mind with the brutal abandon with which Mysaria begged Rhaenyra to have her, shoving her hips down to meet her powerful thrusts.
She was a good actress – Alicent had to give her that.
Mysaria bent her head and kissed Rhaenyra, a wet and desperate affair that had them clutching ever harder at each other even as the tempo slowed.
Mysaria bit at Rhaenyra’s jaw, curled her hands around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, white-knuckled, as she rose up and then sank back down. Rhaenyra’s hands, in turn, slid up Mysaria’s back, curled around it. They kissed again.
“You want me – oh! – on my knees?” Mysaria asked softly, hips still rolling down against Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra shook her head. She kissed her collarbone. “I like this,” she said earnestly, taking hold of Mysaria’s hips again to thrust up into her.
“Mhm, ah!” Mysaria laughed and moaned. She pressed a kiss to the top of Rhaenyra’s head. “Who would have thought,” she continued, picking the pace back up. “Me, a dragon-rider.”
Alicent grimaced; Rhaenyra laughed. She buried her head against Mysaria’s shoulder, but Mysaria twisted out from the embrace, pushing Rhaenyra down on the bed until she was supine, smiling down at her, eyes glazed with pleasure.
“Dohaeris,” she told Rhaenyra, and with that Alicent decided that she was done, snuck away long before they were finished, the echoes of their love-making following her back through the stone corridor almost all the way to her rooms, as if emanating out of her head rather than the chamber behind her.