novelzi [136] Dinner With A Lioness
[136] Dinner With A Lioness
Chapter 136: Dinner With A Lioness
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The afternoon sun painted Casterly Rock in shades of gold and amber as I made my way toward the great staircase.
My mind was already on the rooftop where Myrcella would be waiting, the little lioness likely shivering with anticipation and dread in equal measure. The thought brought a smile to my face.
Power isn't just in conquest, but in the aftermath. Otherwise, I'd have been content after getting the throne.
A flash of silver-white caught my eye from the grand staircase. I paused.
Descending with otherworldly grace was a sight to behold. Daenerys, but not as the fragile girl I'd once known. Her draconic transformation remained startling even to me.
Silver-white hair coiled around obsidian bone protrusions that emerged from her temples like a crown of horns. The locks were intricately braided, twisting through the dark horns. Her violet eyes burned like twilight stars, pupils narrowed to draconic slits that widened slightly when they landed on me.
The gown she wore was crafted from charcoal-black scales woven with the finest Myrish silk, clinging to every curve and swell of her body. The fabric shimmered with crimson highlights when she moved, giving the impression of embers smoldering beneath dark ashes.
Her shoulders remained free of fabrics, glistening a little. Her arms were encased in gauntlets, her fingers tipped with delicate but lethal talons that clicked softly against the stone banister as she descended.
Behind her, muscular wings—real, not costume—unfurled partially despite the confined space, casting dramatic shadows across the staircase. A barbed tail, long and sinuous, dragged behind her against the stone steps.
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"You're late," she said, her voice carrying new harmonics that hadn't been there before. "The girl has been waiting on the rooftop for quite some time."
"My apologies to her, sister," I replied, watching how her frown transformed her features into something both beautiful and terrifying. The high cheekbones, now accentuated by faint ridges of scales, cast sharp shadows across her face.
"Do you intend to sleep with her tonight?" Daenerys asked bluntly.
I laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "...It might or might not happen. Depends on her. I promised her." I cocked my head to one side, studying her. "Are you jealous, dear sister?"
Daenerys scoffed, the sound carrying a hint of a growl deep in her throat. "I'm leaving."
"Hm? Where?"
"You’re taking too long in this rock, I’m incredibly bored. I'll be flying to Dragonstone since you'll be heading to King's Landing eventually. Thought to check it first."
She's asking my permission, I noted. It didn't sound like that, but it was the case. Destiny didn't ask permission, but Daenerys still did.
"To make sure it's ready to receive us?" I asked, vaguely recalling that in the show, Daenerys had landed at Dragonstone first, finding it abandoned by Stannis's forces.
She nodded, her horns catching the light. "I'll remain there until you arrive. I won't proceed to King's Landing before you."
I considered her request, and as the seconds stretched, I watched how her tail curled and uncurled behind her—a telltale sign of tension I'd learned to recognize.
I smiled. "Sure thing. Take Drogon with you. Tell him not to burn anything though, I don't want a diplomatic incident."
Relief flashed across her features, smoothing the scales at her temples momentarily. "Thank you, brother.”
She moved past me, her wing brushing my shoulder with surprising warmth.
As she receded from view, I turned back to the staircase leading upward. Myrcella awaited, and I had no intention of disappointing her—or myself.
Some fires burned slowly, but consumed just as thoroughly.
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"...and then he said, 'Perhaps it's not the crown that's too big, but the head that's too small!'" I finished, voice mocking, as my eyes remained locked on Myrcella's face.
“No way? You're lying-” The little princess erupted into genuine laughter, musical and unrestrained, before suddenly catching herself, her eyes widening with the realization of her momentary freedom. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the sound.
"Don't stop on my account," I said, taking a sip of the Arbor gold. "It's a pleasant sound. Like little golden bells."
The rooftop of Casterly Rock offered a breathtaking panorama of the sunset over the Sunset Sea, waves crashing far below against the base of the massive stone fortress. I'd arranged for a small table to be set up, laden with delicacies—honeyed duck, freshly caught fish in saffron sauce, and sweet pastries filled with custard and blackberries.
Myrcella sat across from me, looking exquisite in a gown of emerald silk that complemented her eyes.
Her golden hair had been arranged in an elaborate style, a few loose tendrils framing her face, catching the dying sunlight like threads of pure gold. The dress was cut to accentuate her developing curves, the swell of her breasts pushed up by the tight bodice, her waist impossibly slender, flaring to hips that promised fertility.
She remained quiet. And then…
"What if..." she began hesitantly, then, with surprising boldness, continued, "What if the scary Dragon King doesn't like my laugh and feeds me to his dragon?"
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused by her unexpected spark. Is it the wine? In the right circumstances, the lioness cub showed her claws after all.
"Dragons prefer their meat less..." I hesitated, deliberately letting my eyes roam over her figure, "...gorgeous."
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Her cheeks colored beautifully, but she didn't shrink away as she might have days ago. Progress, indeed.
“Sweet words from a wolf to a sheep,” she said.
"Tell me, little lioness," I chuckled, leaning forward, "do you miss King's Landing? Or perhaps Dorne?"
She considered the question, her slender fingers tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The movement was innocently sensual, making me wonder whether it was calculated or simply the natural grace she'd inherited from her golden-haired mother.
"I miss... certain aspects of both," she admitted. "In King's Landing, I had my family, but was always in brother Joffrey's shadow. In Dorne, I had more freedom, but was still a hostage, if a well-treated one." Her green eyes met mine briefly. "Here, I'm Lady of Casterly Rock, but..."
"But still not free," I finished for her.
The fire inside burns brighter than any cage can contain. I noticed her look.
She nodded, then sighed, a sound that carried the weight of her young years and the burdens placed upon her slender shoulders. "You... you're not that scary, you know?” she said suddenly, looking up at me through long lashes. "Is this a facade? To have my guard down?”
I sipped the gold.
In the show, Myrcella was innocent and sweet. And a tragic wasted death. Here, she lived, a pawn in a different game but with a chance for something more.
"I can be both, Myrcella," I said honestly. "Terrifying to my enemies, less so to those loyal to me. I didn't lie when I said I would treat you well if you behaved and listened to me. Look at Doran. Then look at Ari. Same family, same blood, yet different treatment.”
The breeze caught her hair, sending those golden strands dancing across her face. She tucked them behind her ear with a delicate motion, unwittingly seductive in its simplicity.
"I..." she started, vulnerability replacing her momentary boldness. "I know I’m eighteen, but I'm not ready for a child."
“Hmm?”
Her eyes, those Lannister emeralds,
Finally, he began to move his waist. He began thrusting into her with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. The initial pain had somehow faded already, replaced by a pleasure so intense it frightened her.
How… how is this possible? she wondered dazedly as waves of sensation crashed over her. Was his manhood somehow magical?
Each thrust drove her higher, wringing sounds from her throat she'd never made before—desperate, animal noises that she barely recognized as her own. Her head fell back, her golden hair cascading down her back as she rode him, matching his rhythm instinctively.
"That's it," he growled, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Take all of me."
She couldn't help it—her body responded to his command, taking him deeper, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure built to an impossible peak.
Drool escaped the corner of her mouth as she lost control of herself, her eyes rolling back as he hit a spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
"Oh gods," she gasped, her voice hoarse. "Oh gods, oh gods— argh, fukkkhh!"
He laughed at her reaction, finding it fun? Or amusing? No, the way he leaned down to kiss it, he found it… lovely.
The world narrowed to just this—his body and hers, joined together, moving in a primal rhythm as old as time.
She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't remember why she should be fighting this overwhelming pleasure.
Her head was spinning, her moans growing louder with each thrust. What expression was on her face right now?
She couldn't imagine, couldn't think straight as he put his body weight over her. Their chests were against one another, their lips the same, as he kissed her deeply while continuing to thrust relentlessly, deeper and deeper until she was certain she would shatter completely.
Myrcella burst out in continuous orgasms by the man who'd taken everything from her. Her fingers clenched his back, but her nails failed to dig into his incredibly strong flesh….
She could only moan, cry, beg, and laugh as his strong masculine manhood made her lose her mind. All night long.
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