Daenerys lay curled against Maekar's side, her arm draped across his chest as her fingers lazily traced patterns along his skin. Her breasts, full and firm, pressed against his ribs, her waist narrow, and her hips gently flared. Her long, slender legs were tangled with his, and her silver-gold hair cascaded down her back, tickling his skin. She nestled closer, pressing gentle kisses along the side of his face and trailing them down toward his neck, her intent clear.
"One more time," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear.
Maekar groaned softly, though his hand stroked her arm. As much as he was tempted, he knew better. "You should return to your chambers," he murmured, his voice low.
Daenerys pulled back slightly, pouting as she looked up at him. "One more time," she insisted, her hands wandering across his chest, eager and persistent.
"As much as I would like to," Maekar sighed, his fingers brushing a stray silver lock from her face, "we need to be careful, especially now. The castle is going to be filled with nobles soon."
Daenerys frowned, her expression shifting from playful to serious in an instant. "Why should we keep this a secret?" she asked, frustration evident in her voice. "Why can't you just go to Rhaegar and ask for my hand in marriage?"
Maekar's face hardened for a moment. "It's not that simple, Dany," he said, his tone more serious now.
"Then I'll ask him myself," Daenerys replied, stubbornly raising her chin.
Maekar shook his head, sighing. "Dany... my father has different plans for you."
Daenerys froze at that, her eyes narrowing as she sat up slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"I'll tell you later," Maekar said, his hands slipping under the blanket and cupping her breasts, kneading them gently. Daenerys let out a soft moan, momentarily distracted by the sensation.
But her thoughts quickly returned to something else. "I don't like that you've been spending so much time with Lady Lannister," she muttered, her voice edged with jealousy.
Maekar paused, his hands stilling. He had come to learn that Daenerys could be fiercely possessive, and her jealousy only made his plans with Rhaenys all the more difficult. Hells, if she knew what he was truly planning, her anger would be something far worse.
He sighed inwardly. This part of his path to the throne was proving to be far more difficult than any battle or scheme.
"You know I need to sway Cersei," he replied, keeping his voice calm and level.
"Oh, it's Cersei now, is it?" Daenerys shot back, sitting up further and crossing her arms, her eyes flashing with indignation.
Maekar swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Don't do that," he said, his frustration growing. "I'm literally planning a rebellion here, Dany."
Daenerys huffed, pulling the blanket around herself as she got out of bed. "I still don't like it," she muttered under her breath. She bent down, her bare ass fully exposed in the moonlight streaming through the window. Her pale, smooth cheeks were perfectly rounded, inviting Maekar's gaze to linger on the sight as she picked up her discarded gown from the floor.
Maekar watched her for a moment, admiring her figure as she slid the gown over her body. He sighed, knowing this argument wouldn't go away easily.
She turned back to him, her expression softer now, though the tension still lingered. They shared one last kiss before she pulled away and moved toward the hidden passageway in his chambers.
=====
As morning arrived, Maekar found himself sitting at the edge of the bed, putting his boots on. Basil stood before him, giving the daily reports.
"Prince Aegon has been trying to bribe some of the City Guard," Basil began.
"Has he now?" Maekar raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at his lips.
"They did exactly as they were instructed—accepted the bribe and then came straight to me with the information," Basil added, his lips curling slightly at the edges.
Maekar chuckled, shaking his head. "Good. Let Aegon think he's gaining ground."
Basil shifted slightly, his voice lowering as he continued. "There's more, my prince. Aegon has been meeting with Varys more frequently as of late."
"Varys," Maekar muttered, frowning. "That spider never stays quiet for long. And his... friend? Is he arriving today?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Basil nodded. "Yes, my prince. His ship should dock before sunset."
"Good," Maekar said, his voice firm. "Have the men prepare the ship for tonight. We'll take it out to sea for a few hours, away from prying eyes." He paused for a moment, his mind already turning to his next steps. "And tell Ros to gather everything she can from the lords visiting her establishments. I want as much dirt on them as possible before the tourney begins."
"Understood." Basil gave a small bow and left the room without another word.
Maekar stood up and stretched. He needed to clear his head, perhaps find Rhaenys and talk some sense into her before things escalated even further. He grabbed his cloak and left his chambers, the heavy doors closing softly behind him.
Outside, Ser Oswell was standing guard, his armor gleaming in the soft morning light. He straightened as Maekar appeared, silently falling into step beside him as Maekar began walking through the halls of the Red Keep.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, his thoughts racing with the myriad concerns that plagued him. His uncles would be arriving tomorrow, and shortly after that, the tourney would begin. Everything had to go perfectly if he wanted to secure the Stormlands and the Westerlands fully on his side. He couldn't afford any missteps now.
But Stannis... Stannis remained a thorn in his side. The man had refused every request to meet. He couldn't even find his son, as apparently, he had gone hunting. The Baratheon heir seemed far more malleable than his father, but still, it was a delicate game.
And then there was Rhaenys. She had been causing problems for both him and Aegon, but more than that, she was unpredictable. He needed to rein her in before she did something stupid.
As he walked through the halls, his mind spinning with plans and contingencies, he couldn't help but wonder if the only truly normal one in their family was Viserys. Everyone else was either mad, scheming, or worse.
Maekar let out a dry chuckle at the thought, shaking his head as he continued through the castle, finding himself in the gardens.
He made his way through the lush greenery of the Red Keep's gardens until he stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the man he'd been searching for: Durran Baratheon.
'Fucker's been here the whole time,' he thought, annoyance prickling in his chest. Worse still, Durran wasn't alone. He was speaking with Rhaenys, and not far off stood Arianne, her sharp eyes watching the exchange closely.
As Maekar approached, Ser Jaime, who stood a respectful distance from Rhaenys, was the first to spot him. The Kingsguard knight gave a curt bow.
"Ser Oswell," Maekar muttered to his shadow, "stay with Ser Jaime."
Oswell obeyed without question, falling back to stand beside Jaime as Maekar continued his approach. Durran was the first to notice him.
"Ah, Prince Maekar!" Durran called out, his voice cheerful, a broad smile on his face. The young Baratheon was big for his age, a spitting image of what Robert had been in his youth. If Maekar didn't know better, he might have mistaken him for Lyonel; the resemblance was uncanny.
Rhaenys and Arianne turned toward Maekar, their expressions a mix of curiosity and caution. Rhaenys arched a brow, and Arianne gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment.
"Lord Durran," Maekar greeted him, his tone polite. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Maekar added, turning his gaze briefly to his sister.
"Yes, brother," Rhaenys said with a touch of sarcasm. "You always seem to have impeccable timing."
Before Rhaenys could continue, Durran clapped a hand to his side, still grinning. "No interruption at all, Prince Maekar! I was just enjoying some fine company." His gaze flitted between the two princesses. "But perhaps we can continue our conversation another time, princesses?" Durran gave a polite bow to both Rhaenys and Arianne.
Rhaenys inclined her head, though Maekar noted the flash of annoyance in her eyes. Arianne simply smiled, watching the interaction with quiet amusement.
Maekar seized the moment, turning back to Durran. "I've heard you're quite the warrior, Lord Durran. We should spar sometime."
Durran's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "What about this evening, my prince?"
"That works for me," Maekar replied with a nod, eager to get the young Baratheon alone.
With parting words, Durran made his exit, leaving Maekar standing with Rhaenys and Arianne.
Maekar let out a small breath as Durran's form disappeared out of view. He shifted his attention to Rhaenys, who was now watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Well, brother," she said with a sly smile. "What brings you to the gardens today? Surely, you weren't just looking for Lord Durran."
"What are you doing, Rhaenys?" he asked bluntly.
Rhaenys, as always, played the innocent, her expression a perfect mask of serenity. "I don't know what you mean, brother."
Maekar sighed, shaking his head. "I gave you a chance, Rhaenys. An offer of alliance, a way forward. I don't know what you're trying to achieve here, but stop."
For a moment, Rhaenys remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowed with thought.
"The offer still stands," Maekar continued. "But not for long."
Rhaenys lifted her chin, her gaze cutting through him. Then, a bitter smile curled on her lips. "And what would Daenerys think of this?" she asked coolly. "Is she supposed to be your mistress when all is said and done? Or do you plan to marry both of us?"
Maekar didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled, a cold, calculated smile that sent a shiver of unease through his sister. The confidence in his expression was enough to make Rhaenys pause, her eyes widening slightly in disbelief.
"That's your plan," she said, a mixture of surprise and anger creeping into her voice.
She laughed, but it was bitter, cold. Arianne, standing nearby, looked equally stunned but remained silent, her gaze flicking between the two siblings.
"You're as mad as our father... as Aegon," Rhaenys spat, her eyes narrowing with contempt.
Maekar's smile faded, his tone turning serious. "My ascension to the throne is inevitable, Rhaenys. What you're doing now... it doesn't matter. It won't matter how many kingdoms side with Aegon as well. My victory is set in stone, fated by the gods themselves."
The conviction in his voice was chilling, so absolute that even Rhaenys faltered for a moment as an uneasy expression flickered across her face.
Without another word, Rhaenys turned on her heel and left, her footsteps sharp against the cobblestones as she walked away, her back rigid with anger and, perhaps, a trace of doubt.
As she disappeared from view, Maekar's gaze shifted to Arianne. Their eyes locked, and the silence stretched between them. Arianne studied him carefully before speaking.
"Meet me here tomorrow," she said softly, her voice low. "I wish to talk."
Maekar gave her a slow nod. "Very well."
.
.
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Varys moved swiftly through the shadowy tunnels beneath the Red Keep, his mind racing even as his footsteps remained silent on the cold stone floors. The labyrinthine passages, known only to a few, were his sanctuary—a place where he could think, plan, and maneuver without fear of being seen.
'Everything,' he thought with satisfaction, 'is going according to plan.' The realm was on the verge of tearing itself apart, and the seeds of chaos he had sown were beginning to bear fruit.
For years, he had worked behind the scenes, wanting to pit the princes against each other, subtly manipulating the noble houses, and guiding the realm toward inevitable war. He had spent years planning for the day Maekar would return to King's Landing, imagining countless scenarios in which he would have to nudge the young prince into rebellion. But to his surprise, when Maekar had finally come back, Varys found that he didn't have to do anything at all. The boy was already plotting against his brother, moving the pieces of the game himself.
Varys had celebrated quietly that night, relishing the realization that his work had been made all the easier. Maekar's ambition, his thirst for power, was a gift Varys had not anticipated. All he needed to do now was fan the flames, to subtly make things worse when the inevitable war between Aegon and Maekar came. It would be a conflict that would fracture the realm, leaving it ripe for Daemon to return and claim what was rightfully his—the Iron Throne, his family's throne. No, our family's throne, Varys thought with satisfaction.
But now... now there was a problem. A week ago, Varys had received a missive from Illyrio, requesting a meeting. The words on the parchment had sent a chill down his spine—something he hadn't felt in years. The Golden Company, the army of 20,000 men, had gone missing. Missing. How does an army of 20,000 men simply vanish?
Varys had dismissed the thought at first, assuming it was a mistake, perhaps a delay in communication. But as days passed and no word came from Myr of the company's arrival, he could no longer ignore the gravity of the situation. Illyrio had been right.
What had happened? Had the company's forces mutinied? Had they been ambushed? Was Daemon safe?
The questions swirled in his mind, each more troubling than the last. Varys prided himself on being able to anticipate every outcome, to know every move before it was made. But this... this was unexpected.
He hoped Illyrio would have answers. He had to. The thought made Varys quicken his pace, his normally calm demeanor flickering with the faintest hint of unease.
He waited, and soon, from the other side, the glow of a lantern appeared.
"Varys!" Illyrio's voice called out.
"My friend," Varys greeted, moving swiftly to embrace him, but his mind was already racing. The unease he'd felt since receiving Illyrio's letter had grown tenfold upon seeing his old friend. Illyrio looked haggard, his usually well-groomed appearance disheveled, and there were dark circles under his eyes—a sign that he hadn't slept in days.
"What's happened?" Varys asked, his tone more demanding than usual. "Where is the Golden Company?"
Illyrio sighed heavily, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice cracking under the strain. "Daemon, Strickland—there's been no word from them."
Varys felt his stomach drop. "What do you mean? No word at all? What about the men you sent from Myr?"
"They found their camp..." Illyrio paused, as if struggling to say the words. "Burned. Destroyed. Everything was ashes. They don't know what happened."
Varys's heart sank. His usually calm facade faltered, his face paling. "Burned? By whom? No power in Essos has the ability to do this to the Golden Company, to 20,000 men."
"I don't know, Varys!" Illyrio shouted, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. "I don't know what to do, my friend."
Varys cut him off, trying to project calm. "Daemon will be safe. They would have protected him with their lives. We'll find him. We just need to—"
Suddenly, Varys stopped mid-sentence. He heard it—the sound of boots, heavy and unmistakable, approaching from the shadows. His eyes darted toward the direction of the noise, his finely tuned instincts alerting him to danger.
"Varys," Illyrio hissed, alarm clear in his voice. "What's happening?"
Varys turned, moving swiftly in the direction Illyrio had come from. But his heart sank further when he realized more footsteps echoed from the same direction. Men. Armed. Coming toward them.
"How?" Varys whispered, his mind racing. 'How had he not seen this coming? Who were they?' His spies, his little birds—they should have warned him of this.
Frozen in place, his mind worked frantically, trying to make sense of what was happening. How had he been blindsided? How had someone—
Suddenly, a heavy fist slammed into his face.
The world spun as Varys fell, his vision blurring. The last thing he saw was the cold stone floor rushing up to meet him as darkness overtook his mind.
=====
When Varys regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was the rough texture of the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. His body was sore, and his head pounded from the blow he had taken. Blinking groggily, he tried to focus on his surroundings.
He was on the deck of a ship, the cold sea air hitting his face. His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him: fierce, armored men—men he knew Prince Maekar had brought with him from the North.
His mind began to panic, trying to piece together what was happening. Then he saw Illyrio, tied up beside him, gagged. His old friend's eyes were filled with fear, tears streaming down his face.
"Varys, finally awake, I see," came a voice from behind him.
Varys turned, his heart sinking further.
"I had to gag that fool," Maekar said, nodding toward Illyrio. "He kept screaming his head off. It was annoying."
Varys swallowed, trying to maintain his composure. "My prince... what are you doing?" he asked, his voice unsteady but attempting to regain control of the situation.
Maekar tilted his head slightly, his eyes cold. "I'm going to kill you, Varys."
Varys's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his tone measured. "You can't kill me. I'm a member of the small council, a trusted advisor to your father."
Maekar's expression didn't change. He remained unfazed, standing over Varys. "You're a traitor, Varys."
"And so are you," Varys shot back. His mind raced, but the cold look in Maekar's gaze made him realize there was no reasoning with the prince today.
Maekar didn't react to the accusation. Instead, he reached behind him and unsheathed a sword. The moonlight glinted off its unmistakable dark steel—Valyrian steel.
Varys's breath caught in his throat. "Blackfyre," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. The calm he had tried so hard to maintain shattered. His eyes widened, and his heart pounded furiously in his chest.
"How?" Varys managed, his voice barely audible.
Illyrio, beside him, began to sob uncontrollably, the gag muffling his cries.
Maekar watched Varys, seemingly enjoying his shock. "You should see your face, Varys. Yes, Blackfyre has returned to its rightful owner. But that's not all..." Maekar paused, then added with a dark grin, "I also ended a pest that had been plaguing House Targaryen for years." Maekar smirked, "Bloodraven would be proud."
"How?" Varys croaked again, his voice trembling with disbelief.
Maekar didn't answer. Instead, he gestured with a tilt of his head. "Look up."
Varys's gaze followed the direction of Maekar's nod, and there, high above in the night sky, silhouetted against the moonlit, starry backdrop, was the unmistakable shape of a dragon flying.
Varys's heart pounded in his chest like war drums.
He couldn't breathe.
No words came.
His defeat was complete.
"Nothing to say?" Maekar asked, smirking down at him. "Well, let's get this over with."
Varys watched in helpless horror as Illyrio was dragged to the side of the ship. A large rock had been tied to his legs, and despite his muffled cries and desperate attempts to resist, the northern warriors unceremoniously tossed him overboard. The splash echoed in the night as Illyrio vanished beneath the dark waters, sinking rapidly into the abyss.
Varys's mouth went dry. His time had come. The warriors grabbed him next, hauling him to the edge of the ship. As they prepared to throw him over, he locked eyes with Maekar one last time, making peace with fate and calming himself.
"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, my prince," Varys said, his voice eerily calm.
Maekar said nothing, his face unreadable.
And then Varys was tossed overboard, the weight of the rock pulling him down into the icy depths. The cold water closed over his head, and as he sank deeper, his final thoughts were not of the throne, nor of the schemes he had woven for so many years.
'Forgive me, Serra,' he thought, his heart heavy with regret, before the darkness consumed him whole.
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A Three Chapter Drop
Next chapter will be in a week.