COMPANION

Do something naughty

The Red Keep was a place of intrigue and danger, but none embodied its peril more than Maegor Targaryen, the most feared and ruthless of the Targaryen kings. His marriage to Rhaenyra Targaryen, his niece, was no different—a volatile mix of passion, violence, and an unyielding struggle for dominance.

-

Rhaenyra's eyes were cold and calculating as she looked at Maegor, her new husband, the man who had forcibly taken her as his wife. Her beauty was as deadly as it was mesmerizing, her silver hair cascading down her back, her violet eyes glinting with a murderous intent that did not go unnoticed by Maegor.

He smirked, his grip on her arm firm as he pulled her close. "You look beautiful tonight, my queen," he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr.

Rhaenyra's lips curled into a mocking smile. "You won't think so when I slit your throat," she hissed.

Maegor's laugh was deep and genuine. "You can try, my love. But you should know, I find your attempts on my life rather... stimulating."

She glared at him, her hatred palpable. "You won't be laughing for long."

Their wedding night was a battle, a dance of blades and fire. Rhaenyra, ever the skilled assassin, moved with deadly grace, her dagger flashing in the candlelight. Maegor, a warrior king, matched her blow for blow, his strength and brutality a perfect counter to her speed and precision.

The struggle was fierce, but inevitably, it ended the same way it always did—with Maegor overpowering her, their battle turning into a different kind of struggle, one of passion and desire. He pinned her to the bed, his eyes burning with a mix of lust and amusement.

"You can't kill me, Rhaenyra," he whispered against her ear. "But I do love it when you try."

-

Days turned into weeks, and Rhaenyra's attempts to murder Maegor continued. Each time, she came closer, her skill and cunning growing with every failed assassination. But each time, Maegor thwarted her, his dark amusement only growing.

One evening, as Maegor sat in his chambers, Rhaenyra struck again. She moved silently, her dagger aimed at his heart. But Maegor was ready, his reflexes honed by years of combat. He caught her wrist, twisting it until she dropped the blade.

"Really, Rhaenyra?" he said, his voice a low growl. "Must we do this every night?"

She spat at him, her eyes blazing with fury. "I will see you dead, Maegor. Even if it is the last thing I do."

His grip tightened on her wrist, pulling her close. "And I will see you in my bed, every night, until you realize that you belong to me."

Their struggle was intense, their bodies pressed close as they fought for dominance. But as always, the battle turned into something else. Maegor's lips captured hers in a fierce, possessive kiss, his free hand tangling in her hair.

Rhaenyra resisted at first, her body tense. But the intensity of Maegor's desire was overwhelming, and despite herself, she found her resistance melting away, replaced by a fierce, burning passion.

-

The court of King's Landing was rife with whispers about the king and his deadly queen. Rhaenyra's beauty was matched only by her lethal skill, and the courtiers watched with a mix of fear and fascination as she moved through the halls, always a dagger hidden somewhere on her person.

Maegor, for his part, reveled in the chaos. His obsession with Rhaenyra only grew, his desire for her an all-consuming fire. He watched her constantly, his eyes dark with possessive hunger.