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Maegor had never thought of himself as a lover. He'd had plenty of women over the years—many were beautiful—but none had ever made his heart race the way Vissera Velaryon did. He couldn't explain it, but from the moment their eyes met, it was as though his entire world stopped.
Currently, Maegor was sparring with Jacaerys. His sisters, Baela and Rhaena, watched nearby while Lucerys had just returned from Driftmark. Maegor couldn't help but notice how Baela's gaze lingered on Jace, her affection clear. And how Rhaena would blush every time Lucerys smiled at her or spoke. His sisters had made good matches.
"You're improving, Jace, but you need to stay focused," Maegor said once their practice concluded. He quickly realized Jace wasn't even listening—too distracted by Baela. Maegor chuckled to himself.
"What's so funny?" Jace asked, finally snapping out of his daze.
"Nothing, just how you can't keep your eyes off my sister," Maegor teased, smirking.
Jace rolled his eyes, but the faint flush in his cheeks betrayed him as he walked off, leaving Maegor alone. Shaking his head, Maegor picked up a bow and quiver to practice archery. Just as he readied his shot, a soft voice broke his concentration.
"You practice a lot, Maegor."
He turned, and there she was—Vissera. She stood with her own bow in hand, dressed in training clothes, radiating confidence. Maegor couldn't help but admire her. She was stunning, but he knew his father would never allow him to have her. Pushing the thought aside, he straightened.
"Yes, Princess. I must, if I am to be the greatest Targaryen in history," he replied, moving toward the targets. She followed, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
"Aegon the Conqueror will always hold that title," she remarked with a chuckle.
Maegor rolled his eyes but said nothing, focusing on his shot. Vissera joined him at the range, loosing an arrow that landed dead center on the target.
"Good aim," Maegor noted. "But your form could use some work."
He stepped behind her. "Let me show you."
As he adjusted her stance, guiding her hands, Vissera felt a warmth rise within her. Every brush of his fingers sent sparks through her skin. His breath grazed her ear as he spoke, but she couldn't focus on his words—her mind was swirling. Before she knew it, her thoughts escaped her lips.
"Is this how you get women into your bed, Maegor?" she asked, her voice soft yet provocative. She felt him pause, then continued, emboldened. "By getting so close, letting them... feel you?"
Vissera had come to the training grounds with the intent of practicing as usual, but when she saw Maegor, curiosity got the better of her. Rumors about him were plentiful—whispers of his cruelty, his appetite for women. She wanted to see for herself if he truly was the man people spoke of.
Maegor's expression darkened at her words. He stepped back, his tone colder now. "Vissera, if I wanted you in my bed, I would've had you already."
Her breath hitched at his bluntness, but before she could respond, Maegor turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there. He was frustrated, not because of her teasing, but because it stung to think that she—and perhaps all of Dragonstone—might see him as nothing more than a lecherous brute.
