The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Joffrey rode beside his mother's carriage, his horse's hooves beating a steady rhythm on the dirt road. The royal convoy trudged along slowly, the weight of the journey taking its toll.
Cersei leaned out of the window, her golden hair catching the light, eyes sharp as they fixed on her son. "You're quiet today," she remarked, her voice laced with curiosity. Joffrey barely acknowledged her, his mind distant as he gave her a small nod.
His muscles, honed and sculpted through months of secret training, were a display of poise which were attracting attention from women. Attention he liked but would not partake in publicly. He knew how he looked—strong, capable, regal. His body was a weapon as much as his words especially in this world, where appearances were everything.
Suddenly, the carriage groaned beneath its weight, the sound of snapping wood piercing the air. The wheel broke with a sharp crack, and the carriage lurched dangerously to one side.
Cersei's eyes widened, and before the guards could react, Joffrey was off his horse, moving swiftly. Without hesitation, he slipped beneath the tilting carriage, muscles flexing as he grabbed the edge and heaved it upward.
The weight strained against him, but his body held firm, his strength surprising even himself. Every muscle bunched and rippled beneath his fine clothes, a testament to his months of disciplined training. Cersei, still half inside the carriage, stared at her son, her lips parting in surprise. Her eyes roamed over his body, the way his arms bulged as he held the carriage steady strongly.
There was a flicker of something in her gaze, something more than maternal pride. She watched as his body strained under the weight, and a heat stirred within her that she hadn't expected. "Get out, Mother," Joffrey grunted, his voice low and commanding.
Cersei hesitated, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before she carefully climbed out, pulling Myrcella along with her. Once they were both clear, Joffrey released the carriage, letting it drop with a dull thud as the broken wheel buckled beneath it.
Robert's voice boomed from somewhere behind them, slurred with impatience. "The damned thing broke again?! Fix it! And someone get me a feast while we wait!"
Joffrey straightened, brushing the dust from his hands, irritation flashing briefly across his face. 'Typical Robert'—always hungry, always oblivious to anything but his own desires. Joffrey had no intention of lingering at another one of his father's drunken feasts. Instead, he turned away from the convoy, making his way down toward the river, where the cool water would provide some much-needed solitude.
The camp bustled behind him, but the sounds faded as he reached the riverbank. He knelt by the water, his boots caked with mud from the sudden dismount.
The cold water felt refreshing as he splashed it over the leather, scrubbing at the dirt with a practiced hand. His reflection stared back at him from the rippling surface, his features sharp, his body a testament to his dedication.
As he worked, he heard soft footsteps approaching. He didn't turn immediately, letting the sound draw closer. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one of the maids appeared—older, plump in all the right places, her ample cleavage barely contained by her low-cut brown garb.
Her eyes sparkled as she curtsied, her lips parting into a small, submissive smile. "My lord," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of deference. "Allow me to clean those for you."
Joffrey handed her the boots without a word, his gaze following her every movement as she bent down by the river. Her dress slipped further down as she worked, revealing the heavy swell of her breasts.
They swayed gently with every motion, her body bending over the water, her hands dipping the boots into the river to wash away the grime.
He watched, his desire simmering just below the surface. Her tits were practically spilling out of her dress, soft and full, and he could see every inch of them as she moved. Joffrey crouched down beside her, his voice calm, almost casual. "You missed a spot," he said with a smirk.
The maid glanced up at him, startled for a moment, but said nothing. She bent further over, her cleavage deepening, the sight of her breasts hanging free making his pulse quicken. Without thinking, Joffrey reached forward, slipping his hand inside her blouse, his fingers finding the soft warmth of her skin.
He squeezed her breast, feeling its weight in his palm as he explored her body with slow, deliberate movements. The maid froze but didn't pull away. She continued washing the boots, her breath hitching as his hand roamed freely inside her blouse, his thumb brushing over her nipple. He toyed with her flesh as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, his voice still light and conversational.
"You do good work," he remarked, squeezing her breast harder now. She bit her lip, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as she focused on her task, her tits swinging with every stroke of her hand in the water.
Joffrey's grip tightened, and she moaned softly, barely audible over the sound of the river. When she finished, she stood up, handing him the now-clean boots with trembling hands. Joffrey stood as well, towering over her, his hand slipping out of her blouse.
He didn't stop there, though. His hand moved down to her ass, gripping it firmly, pulling her close until she was pressed against him. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Joffrey leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "Not yet." The words hung in the air between them, a promise unspoken.
Before she could react, Joffrey captured her mouth with his, kissing her deeply. She gasped into the kiss, her lips parting for him. Without hesitation, Joffrey spat into her open mouth, watching as her eyes widened in surprise.
She swallowed reflexively, her body trembling as she stood there, wanting more, but Joffrey only smirked, stepping back as he took his boots from her hands. He didn't bother to look back as he walked away, leaving her standing by the riverbank, panting and needy, the taste of him still lingering in her mouth.
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