His Love |Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Eight

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience with this chapter. Life has been nonstop for me these past few weeks. Work, school, some more work, midterms, an abscessed tooth, work again, and now finals. I wanted to make this chapter extra special for y'all because of the wait.^_^

Chapter Warnings: Dark Aegon, corporal punishment

Aegon Targaryen was a sinful man and was constantly reminded of it every moment he breathed. He recalled three in the days leading up to your legitimization.

Lust.

Gluttony.

Wrath.

The most prominent was lust, the one he was repeatedly told to repent by his mother, grandfather, brother, and Septons. He would seek out any woman, young or old, who would part themselves for a little bit of coin. His eyes would always linger on the pretty serving girls, those with exceptionally long legs, he once said to his brother. He pulled at their skirts and pinched their arse whenever one would mistakenly walk by, but they were not the objects of that lust anymore; that was you.

The way your borrowed dresses clung to your body, your exposed skin always covered in a light sheen of sweat from the summer heat, was always in his head. Thoughts of your time together constantly replayed in his mind's eye-- How your cunt would feel tightly wrapped around his cock as he stole your womanhood. Aegon could hardly function in those moments, his hand permanently in his trousers.

His gluttony, constantly overindulging himself in more wine, more women, more food, and more... you.

He began to steal the things you accumulated during your stay in the Red Keep, creating a hidden shrine of dirty small clothes, towels, pillowcases, nightgowns, body oils, hairpins, and anything else he could get his hands on. No one knew of these overindulgences—a secret between him and the all-seeing eyes of the Gods.

His wrath. Aegon was quick to anger over the slightest things and never learned to quell such a trait. People who knew him as a boy understood this well.

The soup served at supper was too hot? He would spit it in the face of the nearest servant and declare the head of the person who made it. His mother would always purse her lips when that happened, letting her disapproval be known before fixing what he had done, scolding him, and then the process was quick to repeat.

He had not acted on his wrath, a rage that simmered in every moment you were pulled from him. He was the one that found you, and nobody seemed to acknowledge it.

He had even listened to his conscience on the night you only slept together and left before your handmaidens returned for the morning. His heart was heavy as he pried your arms from his body when he did, kissing the smooth skin of your knuckles to stall for time.

It did not feel right to return to the Streets of Silk, let alone Flea Bottom now that everything Aegn desired was right in these Redstone walls.

You were his everything. He thought about you morning, noon, and night, always lurking in the shadows just out of sight. He was very skilled at becoming one with darkness. Over the years, he had learned a few tricks of slinking off into pleasure houses and evading his sworn protectors.

He found out through spying on a private meeting between you and your new Septa that you had little knowledge of the Seven, and when she tried to teach you, throwing a religious text in front of your face, you meekly turned away and said you couldn't read. She had groaned and admonished you for an upbringing you had no fault in. It was they who had laid the laws that texts only be written in the language spoken by high borns, schooling not even a possibility in the life of someone with little money.