ACT II: The Reign of Jaehaerys I — Part 1: The Court and Its Loves (59 AC – 87 AC)
This is the final chapter of the act—it was actually supposed to be three chapters, but I decided to wrap it up sooner because I realized it didn’t need to drag on that long.
Chapter 14: The Marriage of Blood, Jewel, and Ice (86–87 AC)
The screams of pain echoed violently through the stone walls of the deepest and most isolated wing of my Black Stone Tower’s dungeons.
Watching that agony, my mind drifted through the theories and structures of Valyrian magic and how that civilization understood—in an extremely crude and vulgar manner—the use of the arcane arts.
Never confuse the ancestral sorcery of House Vaelarys with Valyrian magic.
The arts of my family are pure, unique, and exclusive traditions of our blood; the Valyrian sorcery practiced by dragonriders was nothing more than an impoverished, depressing copy of our noble heritage.
It is precisely for this reason that I harbor a deep disdain for everything Valyria represented.
And it was because of that ignorant arrogance that the Valyrian Peninsula was reduced to ash and cinder during the Doom.
The Will of the World—Mother Earth—is a loving mother, but she unquestionably has her favorite children: humans.
The imperfections of mortals are seen by this consciousness as absolute in their essence.
It is for this exact reason that the gods of this plane are so terribly limited in their capacity for direct action; the Will of the World repudiates spiritual entities interfering in the affairs of her youngest.
Were it not for the threat of the Long Night or the weakness of a few prophetic visions, no deity would dare project its influence over Westeros.
And who was the poor wretch howling in agony in my dungeons?
A fugitive septon from King’s Landing.
My plans to dismantle the church continued advancing with methodical precision, and that man in particular was one of the most corrupt and debauched priests in the clergy.
Upon realizing that his filth and crimes had been exposed, he faked his own death and tried to escape to the North.
His escape was a magnificent gift.
I was in desperate need of a sacrifice for an arcane forge.
“Ah, but didn’t you previously say that you abhorred human sacrifice rituals?” a layman might ask.
The distinction is simple and crystal clear: the Valyrians immolated innocent people and defenseless slaves, which gradually enraged the very magical weave of the planet.
The worm bound in my ritual circle was anything but innocent.
Furthermore, because they practiced an imperfect copy of our sorcery, to achieve what I accomplish with one vile soul, the Valyrians needed to sacrifice a thousand innocents—and they did so simply because they could.
The lords of Valyria were evil by nature and deserved everything that happened to them.
I extended my left hand to the side.
My beautiful Daenerys, standing silently beside me, handed me a bronze basin containing the warm blood I had harvested from The Cannibal.
I poured the liquid over the markings carved into the obsidian floor and activated the sorcery glyphs.
The man’s screams ceased the instant he turned to ash.
The chunk of raw steel positioned at the center of the ritual circle became incandescent.
Gradually, the metal cooled, transforming not into an ordinary ingot, but into a pure bar of legitimate Valyrian steel—enough volume to forge, at most, a dagger.
“Think about that…” I muttered, staring at the bar.
“The Valyrians would sacrifice a thousand innocent souls to have a sharp dagger, and then complain about being blown off the face of the world.”
I picked up the bar of steel with my bare hands, channeling the internal heat of my blood.
The metal grew incandescent once more and melted under my touch, flowing with precision into the ceramic molds set upon the table, shaping itself into ten slender rings and an imposing bracelet.
Upon crossing the chamber gates, I met the artisan and jeweler I had brought with me from King’s Landing to perform delicate work in my Northern workshops.
I rested the leather bag in his hands and ordered:
“Here, man.
Make these pieces of steel truly beautiful.”
I opened the saddlebag and handed him the pouch filled with the jewels I had gathered:
“The red gems that look like condensed pure blood—which smell like blood and, if you lick them, will taste like blood—are intended for the rings.
The others are for the bracelet.1”
The man held the pouch with trembling hands, bowing his head in fear:
“Y-yes, my lord…
I shall make them beautiful.”
“Your work is focused primarily on cutting and setting the jewels, as the steel itself is already properly shaped,” I commented.
The jeweler stared at the cold metal in the molds with wide eyes:
“Forgive me, my lord…
But is this Valyrian steel?!”
“Yes.
I just made it,” I replied casually.
“I…
I have never worked with Valyrian steel before!
It will be a good experience for me!…
Wait a second…
You just made them?!”
I turned my back and left the room, leaving the man slack-jawed, processing the madness he had just witnessed.
As the work of cutting and setting the magical stones would take weeks of painstaking dedication in the tower’s workshops, the jeweler would remain lodged in the North during that period.
I was absolutely certain that as soon as he returned South, that artisan would spread this story across the entire Seven Kingdoms.
I found myself wondering who would be the first futile lord to ask me for a Valyrian steel weapon.
In fact, I decided at that very moment: the first one who had the courage to come to me and ask with proper posture, I would forge one for him.
Upon reaching my private solar at the top of the tower, I came across the figure of 01—the leader and founder of my secret order of Northern arcane assassins.
The man bowed in silence:
“My lord…
your orders have been executed.”
“Good.
That is all, continue with the primary mission,” I replied, settling into my armchair.
The assassin vanished into the shadows with the same speed he had appeared.
Daenerys, who had accompanied me to the room, looked at me with curiosity:
“What is this order you gave him, Arthos?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about right now, my dear…” I replied, with a smirk.
“Now…
why don’t you help me clear my thoughts?”
Daenerys smiled intelligently, walked over in front of me, and knelt between my legs with the ease and practicality of someone who had mastered that routine for years.
She undid my trousers, pulled out my erect member, and began her exquisite work with her tongue and lips.
While the princess worked on my member, I tilted my head back and let my mind analyze the progress of my plans in the South.
The elimination of political opposition to young Vaegon at the Citadel was going very well.
At that time, at least, there wasn’t yet such a large, structured lobby or faction against magic, which made the work of silent purging much easier.
The real challenge was concentrated in the Faith of the Seven.
Not due to a lack of capacity on my order’s part to kill septons, but rather because the Faith was substantially more corrupt and rotten than I had imagined, and the believers more fanatical.
I hadn’t found a single septon—outside of Septon Barth—who was truly faithful to the dogmas of his own religion.
Some were at least normal in their mundane weaknesses, bedding other septons, prostitutes, or adult followers.
However, a rather large portion of that clergy would not be out of place on Epstein’s island, enjoying unforgivable debaucheries.
The bold tongue of my apprentice brought me back to the present with an especially deep stroke.
Pulling her long silver Valyrian hair and guiding her head, I covered and painted her beautiful face with my warm seed.
Daenerys stared at me with a look of pure rage as she felt the liquid spread across her skin, adjusting her posture.
But her current state was hardly intimidating.
I grabbed her hair again and pushed her back against my lap.
The princess gave a light bite of protest against my thigh, which made me laugh and offer insincere apologies:
“Forgive me, my dear…
I promise I won’t do it again.”
Which, obviously, was a blatant lie.
The order I had given to Leader 01 was to ensure that Saera Targaryen was eliminated, along with anyone linked to her plans in Essos.
The spoiled brat, when she realized—or through some arcane sixth sense felt that something was deeply wrong with her life—managed to seduce a foolish lord in the Free Cities, making him promise to hire assassins from the Order of the Sorrowful Men to kill her own parents—Jaehaerys and Alysanne—simply to throw the Seven Kingdoms into bloody chaos.
Well, the fool was en route to contract the guild of assassins when he suffered an unfortunate accident on the roads of Lys.
Jaehaerys’s reaction when I told him everything was fascinating.
When I revealed to him the blood curse I had placed on Saera’s face to guarantee her slow death, and the assassination plot her daughter had orchestrated, I saw many emotions pass through his eyes, but fury and dread won out.
His only question was whether she would suffer in dying, to which I replied no—which was true; she would simply grow weaker each day, gradually drifting off to sleep until her heart stopped.
And well, to me, falling asleep isn’t suffering.
Of course, after learning of the assassination plot and the curse, Jaehaerys became even more infuriated, but even so he chose to hide absolutely everything from Alysanne.
Which made all the sense in the world: if he told the queen about the blood curse I had placed on their daughter, Westeros would have seen the Second Dance of the Dragons much earlier, with me and The Cannibal facing Alysanne and Silverwing in the skies of the capital.
I pinned Daenerys against my body again, and while she tried to free herself, I channeled my sorcery and paralyzed her body completely:
“Well…
now it’s time for your training, my dear.
Your training is to free yourself from my blood control using your own inner strength.”
I rubbed my member against her face, smearing and dirtying Daenerys’s skin and silver hair even further with my seed, and put it back into her mouth, dictating the rhythm and working it all by myself.
Only after I came two more times into her throat and over her face did Daenerys manage to muster enough arcane willpower to break my control and push my body back.
She stood up from the floor, glaring at me angrily with her face completely soiled and pale:
“You are a bastard, Arthos!”
“You need to train your magical release more, Daenerys,” I replied serenely, adjusting my trousers.
She refused to answer, walking over to the nearest cloth to clean herself up while grumbling and complaining about me dirtying her all over, especially her silver hair.
I merely laughed at her indignation.
After nearly a month of painstaking work in my tower’s workshops, the jeweler finally finished everything.
He handed me ten Valyrian steel rings and a majestic bracelet, both graceful and beautiful with their set gems.
I tossed five rings to Daenerys, which she divided among the fingers of both hands in a way whose aesthetic logic I didn’t quite grasp, but it didn’t matter.
Those rings were magical focusing conduits for her, since the princess lacked the innate talent to use pure magic without physical supports, unlike me and my late father.
Well, to use magic properly, that is: a few small parlor tricks or manipulation on her own body she could still do alone, but with the rings she could accomplish infinitely greater things.
“Good work, blacksmith,” I commented, looking at the artisan.
“Tell me something…
are you married?”
“I am, my lord…
Why do you ask?” he inquired, uncertain.
“If you were single, I would give you Princess Daenerys’s hand in marriage right now.”
The man froze instantly like a deer in a carriage’s lanterns.
Daenerys turned to him with crossed arms:
“Why are you hesitating, man?!
Am I perhaps not to your liking?”
I saw the poor jeweler freeze completely in terror.
I let out a laugh:
“I’m joking, man!
The artisan ran a hand through his thinning hair, letting out a deep sigh of relief as if still trying to process whether he would remain alive.
I walked up to him:
“Come closer.”
He obeyed.
I touched his right arm.
The man gasped at the warmth of the sorcery coursing through his veins at my touch:
“I have cured you of any health problems or ailments in your body.
And well…
if you rush home and father a child with your wife, perhaps he will be someone quite interesting in this world.”
The man was deeply surprised and moved by the blessings.
I pulled a heavy saddlebag filled with gold coins from the solar drawer and handed it to him:
“I’ve already spoken with my commander at the port; he will arrange a merchant escort ship to take you back to King’s Landing.
As the sea voyage from the far North to the capital takes a few weeks of sailing, you may depart now.
Go in peace.”
After the man left the chamber, I saw Daenerys staring at the Valyrian steel rings on her hands.
“Test them,” I ordered.
Daenerys snapped the fingers of her right hand and created a ball of pure fire over her palm.
She controlled it with grace, making the flame twist and slide around her arm like a serpent of fire before extinguishing it with a closed fist.
“So, how are you feeling now?” I asked.
“I feel invincible, Arthos!” she answered with shining eyes.
“Then it’s working perfectly…
Just don’t start blindly believing that.”
While the jeweler began his long weeks-long sea journey South, Daenerys and I returned to King’s Landing in a matter of a few days on the back of The Cannibal.
During the flight through the skies over the Narrow Sea, I took advantage of the altitude and the saddle position to stretch Daenerys’s folds in midair—since, due to the position on the mount, only that could be done with mastery.
The capital remained exactly the same: reeking of sea sewage and filled with futile idiots who spent the day plotting useless conspiracies.
Upon disembarking at the Red Keep and walking through the stone corridors, I ran into Princess Viserra Targaryen.
Among Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s daughters, Viserra managed to hold the title of the most breathtaking woman in the realm alongside Daenerys—which meant a truly staggering beauty.
Her eyes possessed such a striking and unique dark violet hue that, depending on the room’s lighting, they looked like two pools of dark obsidian.
I bade farewell to Daenerys and met with Viserra.
The princess stared at me with a predatory gaze, as if she wanted to devour me right then and there—and well, she really did.
In this world altered by my presence, Viserra had never sought to be queen through childish schemes nor tried to seduce her brother Baelon.
She might have had some vanities similar to Saera’s, but being stupid was definitely not one of them.
Viserra realized very early on that the most powerful and dangerous man on the continent was me—which didn’t require great reasoning, but was nevertheless something many skeptical lords failed to grasp.
She matched my stride down the covered corridor:
“You know, Lord Vaelarys…
my father has a very special surprise for you.
And I have one too…
but you will only get my surprise if you say ‘yes’ to him.”
I smirked, still walking:
“I doubt that if I insisted a little, you wouldn’t give me that surprise of yours right now, princess.”
Viserra gave a sultry smile:
“Well…
maybe I’d give you a part of it if you insisted a little.
As for the main surprise…
I’d have to think on it better.”
Upon turning the corner of the corridor and taking her leave of me, Viserra gave my backside a hard, crisp slap and went running down the stone steps.
“Right, girl…” I thought to myself.
“That will definitely be repaid.”
Days passed in the capital and Jaehaerys said nothing right away, but I could tell from his posture that he had something of extreme gravity to discuss with me.
The opportunity arose upon arriving for a private meeting in the Small Council chamber, where I found only the king and Septon Barth—who by now displayed the fragility and white hair of extreme old age.
I entered the room and mocked:
“A blood sorcerer walks into a bar and finds a stubborn king and an elderly septon…”
Septon Barth let out a raspy laugh, adjusting his reading glasses:
“Oh!
It wasn’t a bar the sorcerer entered…
it was the Small Council chamber!”
“What a shame…
I would infinitely prefer it to be a bar,” I replied, which made the old septon laugh aloud and the king accompany him with a restrained smile.
Jaehaerys sighed and stared at me:
“I have a solemn request to make of you, my friend.”
I sat down in the oak armchair:
“Well, speak then, King of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Stop being ironic, you idiot!
We are talking about something serious,” the king snapped.
I merely offered a calm smile, which made him even more irritated.
“Your carnal affairs and your debauchery in the corridors of this castle have long tested my patience, Arthos!” the monarch continued.
“I know, Jae…
In truth, lately I’ve been doing it primarily to see your indignant face,” I answered naturally.
Hearing my reply, Septon Barth laughed again, shaking his head:
“Your Grace…
the Crown Sorcerer is an incorrigible petulant man and an eternal teenager!”
Jaehaerys glared at the septon with a scowl:
“Don’t you laugh too, Barth!”
After a moment of silence, broken only by the septon’s chuckles, Jaehaerys stared at his own hands and said in a clear tone of defeat:
“I don’t want to see another daughter of mine ruined like that bitch Saera, Arthos…
And Viserra, even though she is more restrained and reserved in her actions, is following the exact same paths.
Except Viserra is infinitely more intelligent and manipulative…
and that is a real danger to the family’s stability.
So…
I ask that you marry her.”
I held the king’s gaze for a few seconds before answering:
“Right…
But before I give you my answer, give me your true political motives for this, Jaehaerys.”
The monarch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes:
“I am growing old, my friend…
but I believe my mind is still sharp enough.
When I am gone and Aemon takes the Iron Throne, I know you will still be by his side as an ally.
But when Aemon’s heir takes the Crown?…
I have no such guarantee of loyalty from House Vaelarys.”
*It is fascinating how Jaehaerys does not even consider young Rhaenys as Aemon’s legitimate heir….*, I thought, realizing how his mindset was already sowing future disputes.
*That way you won’t be able to defend yourself against the claims in the future, my old friend.*
“Right…
And well, what do I get for this?” I asked.
“Is a Targaryen princess not reward enough?!” the king asked, indignant.
“And you still have the audacity to say your mind is sharp after speaking such nonsense…” I mocked.
Barth let out a suppressed laugh:
“Your Grace…
the Faith rightly says that blood sorcerers are driven by boundless greed!”
“Actually, Septon…
the church says that about dragons,” I corrected.
“And you are both!” Jaehaerys retorted.
The septon reached his hand into his cloak, pulled out an ancient parchment sealed with royal wax and the sigil of House Stark, and handed it to me.
I looked at the terms and smiled.
“Well…
this is extremely interesting, Jae.
And did the Starks and the Watch agree to this?”
“At first, no,” the king replied.
“But when I asked nicely and presented the right arguments, Lord Edric and the Lord Commander agreed to sign the decree.”
“You really are a talented father-in-law, Jae…” I mocked.
Jaehaerys contorted his face in deep disgust:
“Please, Arthos…
Never repeat that grotesque word!”
The king sighed heavily, massaging his forehead:
“I can hardly believe I would give my dear daughter to a fellow like you…”
“Oh, Jae…
Of your daughters, I’ve only not bedded Viserra and little Gael yet, my old friend,” I replied with absolute naturalness.
“And that will be partially resolved with this marriage.”
Jaehaerys leaped out of his chair, his hand flying to the pommel of Blackfyre:
“You should show at least a little respect to this father in front of you before he tests whether the Valyrian steel of this blade can cut through your defenses!”
“Obviously it wouldn’t cut, Jae…” I answered without moving an inch.
“I’m not a White Walker, nor do I belong to the legends of the Long Night.
But well…
if one day I were to meet the legendary Corpse Queen of the fairy tales, I would test for you whether a great sword of fire works on them, after all they say she was a terribly beautiful woman in bed.”
Jaehaerys froze in place, staring at me with wide, shocked eyes:
“And the Others…
do they actually exist for real, Arthos?!”
“Of course they exist, Jae,” I replied gravely.
“And for what reason wouldn’t they?”
The king remained in sepulchral silence, the color draining from his face:
“Then…
he spoke the truth about the Winter?”
“Aegon had only an imperfect glimpse of the world’s magical weave,” I explained.
“And you…” Jaehaerys asked in a wavering whisper.
“Are you the Song of Ice and Fire the prophecy spoke of?”
I smirked, staring into the king’s eyes:
“I am a song of ice and fire, my friend…
Or what did you think?
That your family was the only special lineage on this planet?”
I saw the gears of Jaehaerys’s mind turning in shock.
“Well…
you’re not entirely wrong,” I added, breaking the weight in the room.
“Because only our two families could be.”1
And what was the extraordinary concession Jaehaerys gave me on that parchment to convince me to marry Viserra?
He granted me the legal, irrevocable, and sovereign possession of the Territory of the Blessings in the North.
Look here: technically, my Black Stone Tower and the surrounding lands were considered a fief under the informal vassalage of House Stark and the Crown by extension.
With that decree signed by the King and Winterfell, the Territory of the Blessings—which unified the old Brandon’s Blessings with the new lands that Queen Alysanne had tried to donate to the Night’s Watch in the past—became a domain completely my own.
I could proclaim myself whatever I pleased inside it: sovereign, Lord of the Blessings, King of the Gifts, or even Emperor of the Gifts.
“Lord of Gifts…
Emperor of Gifts…
Or how about Annatar?” I reflected in my thoughts.
“Annatar Arthos…
Well, I rather liked the title, but let’s leave that nomenclature for later.”
That very night, during the official feast in the Great Hall, Jaehaerys stood up from his throne and silenced the entire court with a raised hand.
“The last few years have been difficult for my family, marked by many losses and deep trials,” the king began, his voice echoing through the hall.
“However, we remain united and strong, and we shall continue even more so.
When my dear wife,” he extended a hand to Queen Alysanne beside him, who held it affectionately, “traveled to the North years ago, I thought it would be a simple diplomatic trip.
But there…
we found not only ice and austere lords; there we found someone who mirrored the very history and greatness of my house.
Lord Arthos Vaelarys proved to be a powerful and mysterious sorcerer, but also a great friend whom I am proud to have had by my side for all these years, helping to make this realm a place of lasting peace.
And today, I have the honor and pride to announce that this bond shall become eternal: I now announce the marriage of my friend Arthos of House Vaelarys to my daughter, Princess Viserra!”
With the announcement, applause and cheers echoed loudly through the hall, and I was joyfully congratulated by the nobility.
To the common folk and ordinary lords, my name had always been something to fear, mainly because I was not formally bound to the royal family; seeing this alliance sealed brought them immense political relief.
After congratulating me, Prince Baelon, who was sitting beside me, swapped seats with Viserra.
I received her with a courteous kiss on the hand, and the princess sat next to me radiant, wearing a purple silk dress that highlighted her curves and dark violet eyes on what must have been the happiest night of her life.
After the feast concluded, I returned with Daenerys to my room in the Tower of the Hand.
Upon reaching the door, I saw my beautiful betrothed Viserra standing in the corridor.
I entered my room, and standing on the threshold, she teased:
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, my betrothed?”
“Did you happen to turn into a vampire now to need an invitation, princess?” I mocked.
Viserra frowned:
“What is a ‘vampire’?”
“Nothing, princess…
But look here: I know very well what your cunning mind wants to do, and I must say I am a man of honorable principles.
I will only lie with you after the wedding.”
Viserra opened her mouth, astonished:
“You spent the whole night fucking Daella before her wedding!”
“But that was her wedding to Lord Arryn, not mine,” I answered with absolute calm, and slammed the oak door in the princess’s face.
I pushed Daenerys onto the central table of the room, raised the folds of her dress, and noticed that the princess was wearing no underwear underneath.
“Are you jealous, my dear apprentice?” I asked, noticing her continuous silence since the engagement announcement in the hall.
Daenerys stared at me with teary purple eyes:
“Are you…
are you going to abandon me when you marry her, Arthos?”
“Don’t be foolish, my beloved…” I replied, holding her soft hips firmly.
“Viserra may be my first official wife before the law of men…
but you will always be my first woman.
Even more so since, with the blood sorcery I am teaching you, it is you who will accompany me through the centuries.”
I felt Daenerys’s body relax instantly, dispelling the tension accumulated in her shoulders.
Women…
I lie with her every day for eighteen years and she still asks me if I will abandon her.
The royal wedding took place at the end of the following year, in 87 AC.
Jaehaerys had insisted forcefully that I marry in the Great Sept, which led to another sarcastic comment from me about how he still had the audacity to call his mind sharp.
I steadfastly refused to set foot in a sept.
I married under the customs of the Northern religion, before the ancestral weirwood of the Red Keep’s Godswood.
To try and soften the Faith of the Seven’s indignation and calm Jae down, I permitted Septon Barth to conduct the formal vows of the ceremony alongside the ancient prayers.
I cared little for the church; with my secret order of assassins weeding out corrupt priests little by little, in a few years the Faith of the Seven won’t even exist as a political force or will be completely reformed.
Perhaps in the future I’ll use Princess Maegelle for that purpose, just as I am using Vaegon at the Citadel…
Something to think about.
During the celebratory feast that followed, I waited patiently for some idiot lord to try to initiate their traditional—and stupid—bedding ceremony.
However, under the terrifying gaze of The Cannibal resting in the outer courtyard, no nobleman had the courage to approach the bride.
We returned to my private quarters in the Tower of the Hand.
Upon closing the door and locking it with blood sorcery, I faced Viserra:
“So…
Lady Vaelarys.”
Viserra smiled with pure pride, adjusting her jeweled tiara:
“I like how that sounds…
Viserra Vaelarys, Lady of the Blessings.
It’s a good name, don’t you think?”
I snapped the fingers of my right hand.
A microscopic spark of arcane fire struck the seams of her white silk wedding dress, incinerating the entire garment in a fraction of a second and leaving the princess stark naked in the middle of the room, without a single burn caused to her skin.
Viserra startled, covering her breasts with her hands and shouting irritably:
“Have you lost your mind?!
That dress cost a fortune in Lysene silk!”
I walked over to her, covering her mouth with my hand, gripped her soft body, and threw her hard onto the middle of my oak bed, launching myself over her immediately.
I brought my hands to her full, erect breasts and lowered my gaze to her beautiful intimacy, which was already terribly wet and lubricated:
“Well…
it seems someone was in an extreme hurry to be cheeky.”
Viserra stared at me with mockery and provocation in her dark violet eyes:
“And how do you know I’m a virgin, my Sorcerer?”
“I am a blood mage, my dear…
If you were in Ancient Valyria, the purification of your virginity sacrifice would guarantee me fertile harvests for about fifteen years.”
“Then let’s resolve this right now…
I don’t want to be found a virgin by any evil sorcerer,” she provoked.
“Well…
it seems you’re in terrible luck,” I answered.
I unfastened my trousers, pulled out my erect member, and plunged into her all at once, without the slightest gentleness.
Viserra contorted her body and let out a sharp cry of pain against the pillows:
“A little gentleness wouldn’t hurt anyone, Arthos!”
“I’ll remember that the next time I take your virginity,” I mocked, close to her ear.
She stared at me with disdain and sarcasm:
“And from which place on my body do you intend to take my virginity next time, my lord?…
Because from this cunt you already have!”
I merely smirked with pure malice.
Viserra didn’t understand the meaning of my smile at first, which only made me smile even more.
I began to move inside her, pulling out almost completely and driving back in with full force while rapidly increasing the speed.
I began kissing her voraciously and biting her breasts while accelerating the rhythm, until I was fucking the princess with extreme rapidity.
The poor girl soon had her first violent orgasm, but I gave her no time to breathe.
“Take your wedding present, my wife…” I muttered.
Releasing my warm load deep inside her entrails, filling her interior with my ancestral seed.
I pulled out of her body and stepped back.
Viserra remained lying on her back on the bed, in a completely disheveled state, with sweat glistening on her skin, silver hair scattered and stuck to her face and forehead, and her intimacy still undergoing small muscle spasms from the subsequent orgasms she experienced.
I walked over to the table, picked up the Valyrian steel bracelet I had forged in the North, and put it on her right arm.
The moment the piece clicked and locked with a metallic snap, Viserra let out a deep sigh, as if waking from a trance.
“W-what is this, Arthos?!” she asked, her violet eyes widening as she felt the pain of losing her virginity, the fatigue, and physical exhaustion vanish instantly.
“A little bracelet I forged especially for you,” I replied.
“Does it…
does it have magic?!” she asked.
“You used up a question, dear…” I mocked.
Viserra rolled her eyes, but stared at the bracelet set with many different jewels in absolute fascination.
Then, realizing that her strength was completely restored, she smiled with wantonness:
“You didn’t forge this magical bracelet just so you could fuck me over and over without me getting tired…
did you?”
“Of course not…
It also possesses dozens of other arcane protection functions,” I replied, positioning myself back on the bed between her legs.
I settled my erect member at the entrance of her intimacy and looked into her dark violet eyes:
“But now…
we shall begin round two of the thousand rounds required by this bedding ceremony.”
Viserra let out a wanton laugh, wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling my chest against hers:
“Tell me, my Sorcerer…
Is Lord Manderly still available in the capital to come watch this?!”
What are these jewels made of?
🤔🤔🤔It is not Valyrian blood, but rather a powerful lineage—one that exists only within their families following the Doom of Valyria.