Salvation - Aemond Targaryen / Aegon Targaryen

The Light of the Seven

Jeyne was reeling with pain when Aemond collapsed next to her on the bed, pale skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat. They were breathing hard, Jeyne's heart hammered in her ears.

She had just coupled with Aemond. She had just had sex, unwedded, in a bed not her own with a prince.

Jeyne Hightower had just fucked Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Jeyne turned to the side of the bed and unleashed bile onto the stone. It splattered against the ground, her nerve finally lost. She felt Aemond's hand on her hip, rubbing smooth circles across her skin. Jeyne groaned, the blush that had been from shame turned to embarrassment. "Gods.." She whimpered.

Aemond was quiet behind her. "I... was it that bad?"

"No." Jeyne turned to him, trying her best to not breathe on him after her stomach had emptied its contents. "No, it was wonderful I just..."

His singular eye wandered her face, lips twitching in confusion. His hair had been disheveled, she shuddered at the reminder of him devouring the very heart of her body. "Jeyne—"

"We must get married, now." She said softly, bringing her hand to his chest. "We—I can't—we must."

"We will," he leaned down and kissed her forehead, soft and sweet the way she had on the beaches of the Blackwater. "Let's get you dressed."

He stood from the bed, shifting the weight of the mattress and making her uneasy. Jeyne watched him strut confidently to the door, her mind spinning.

If the Maiden, who had been a constant figure in her life for sixteen years, hadn't forsaken her when Jeyne crashed the statue against the door, surely she would have now, now that she had forsaken herself to a man.

No, she told herself. You don't care about the Maiden anymore.

Aemond swung the door to his chambers open and stuck his head out, searching the barren halls. Jeyne watched as he struck his arm out, heard a soft yelp, and a feminine figure be pulled into the room. Jeyne averted her eyes, pulling the green silk fabric over her head.

"You—" Aemond said to the maid. "Go... fetch a dress."

"A... dress, your grace?"

Jeyne could hear Aemond grunt. "Yes. A dress."

"Any... particular—"

"No." The door opened again, and Aemond cursed. "Gods," he grunted. "So many questions."

"Prince Aemond—" Jeyne huffed, throwing the coverlets from her body. He turned to her, grinning in a way that made Jeyne's sex quiver again. He rose his brow, and Jeyne warmed. "Aemond."

"Yes, my lady?"

Jeyne thought of what to say. The words danced on the tip of her tongue, daring to escape. He had touched her moments ago, in a way no one had ever touched her before. She had asked for his hand, and he agreed, and he took her maidenhead. She had forsaken her gods, forsaken the things that kept her afloat through everything. If Aemond backed out... she would have nothing.

Her bottom lip quivered. "I don't know what to do."

He frowned. Still in his naked glory, Aemond sauntered back to the bed and knelt, grabbing her hand and rubbing soothing circles on her palm. His large, thick thumb massaged the tension free, placing gentle kisses across the skin of her wrist and palm. "Jeyne," he comforted her. "I promised that I would."