Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has been in exile her entire life. Robert's Rebellion twenty years ago forced her and her siblings out of their home to Essos. Valaena was sold to Khal Drogo as his wife so her brother could use her husband's arm...
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A gentle breeze and soft fingertips brushed through my hair. My hands slipped from a warm chest onto the mattress as the man beside me rolled onto his side. He pushed my hair behind my shoulder, caressing my cheek with his knuckles. My eyes slowly opened, blinking through the sunlight creating a ring around a tanned figure.
Oberyn's lips pulled back into a lopsided smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he cupped the side of my face in his hand. The pad of his thumb absentmindedly caressed my cheekbone. His other hand rested on my waist, sliding down my back to pull me closer.
"I should go." The words were but a whisper, though the hesitation in my tone set Oberyn's gaze afire.
He effortlessly rolled me onto my back, tucking his knees between my thighs. Lowering himself onto his forearm, his lips against my ear, Oberyn let his erection rest against my folds. "It's past dawn, Valaena."
"People are already talking." I finished his thought with a gasp as he moved his hips, languidly rubbing his length along my entrance.
"Most likely." His lips curled into a smirk as he pushed against my folds.
"We shouldn't," I groaned into his ear as my legs parted for him. "Someone will hear."
"You weren't exactly quiet last night." Oberyn pressed his lips to my cheek. He rubbed his length along my entrance once more before pulling away from me. "But if you're sure."
"Oberyn." His name fell from my lips as a plea, though for what I couldn't say.
"Yes, Your Grace?" The inflection in Oberyn's tone contrasted the few times Jon called me by my proper title. There was a tease in his tone, yes, but a different kind.
The sunlight streaming in through the porthole caught in his warm eyes. His irises shone with the heat of fresh coffee. The corners of his lips lifted, forming creases in his skin beside the glimmer in his gaze.
Despite the aching need between my thighs, I gently pushed against Oberyn's chest as whispers echoed through my mind. Ignoring my racing thoughts, I slipped into my nightdress and crossed the hall to my cabin. I dug through the expensive, Westerosi dresses in my trunk until I found what I was looking for.
It had been several years since I wore my leathers, but they pulled on as easily as when I lived on the Great Grass Sea. The well worn material clung to my form like a second skin. Enveloped by the smell of horses, sweat, and blood, I sat down at the small table against the wall of the cabin.
Though I'd been braiding my own hair since I left for Westeros, my fingers refused to cooperate this morning. Resisting the urge to slam my hand against the wood, I took out the fifth failed braid and stood. Thankfully, I opened my cabin door as Kovarro was walking towards his.
