With Otto Hightower away on DragonStone, the widowed fell into a franctic confusion. The Red Keep was no longer safe for her and that of her children's sake.
"Gods what do I do?" The Queen began tearing her curticules shakily, pacing back and forth in her chambers. The evening tasted so bitter on her tongue, as the conditions Ser Lancelot proposed to her, drove her entire being to an early grave.
No matter how many times she swallowed the bile in her throat, the bitter taste of his demands, made her clothed in vengeful green and venom.
"Ser Lancelot Strong Your Grace." Ser Criston announced.
Alicent's breath hitched, she panicked, wondering if she could ask Ser Criston to kill the club foot, but she had no grasp of how far Lancelot knew most of her secrets. "Send him in." She sighs, clearing her throat.
Immediately the clubfoot entered with his cane.
"The day is quite late.....Ser Lancelot." Alicent said with sincere exasperation. "I'm sure you have pressing business to attend to." she tires to smile but it failed.
"Absolutely not, Your Grace. I took the liberty of coming to see how you fare with our negociations.."
Alicent swallowed the bile in her throat, the air was hot and tensed. "You may sit."
Ser Lancelot smiles, inching close into the cellar. "The Hand has sailed to DragonStone, let us pray his mission proves a success."
Alicent walked to the small couch across from him and glared down at the scheming club-foot with venom. It had been a very long day, but she knew all his rants were just mere formalites, for his presence in her chambers was to collect his payment of debt.
Lancelot smiled to himself, looking into the carved head of his cane before speaking. "Have you thought of my proposal Your Grace? I wonder, the bees don't wait too long around their honey."
Alicent gulps, goosebumps evaded her body.
Lancelot looked at her with an expression that would have been quizzical, had she not known depths of his smug confidence. He waited, and Alicent sighed again before downing the entire goblet rearing on her nearby table, in five loud gulps.
She set down the empty cup and walked around the sofa, seating herself and slipping off her shoes and glared at the lecherous cripple.
Lancelot wasn't looking at her face though. His eyes concentrated on the flexing toes beneath her naked foot. His mouth twitched before he began speaking again.
"I'm sure our coitus will prove advantageous for those willing to... feed the weaver." His breathing had become audible as he raised his hand motioning towards Hightower matriarch.
For a moment, Alicent mask of confidence cracked, fear shining through. Still, she managed a nod.
In one way or another, she'd spent her entire life bowing her head to men. Her father, her husband, what did one more matter? She had no choice but to comply, it is the only way to keep her children safe, and her secret safe.
"When the Queen dies, the bees flee without purpose." Lancelot grinned, then took a present pause and said. "Take off your clothes....Your Grace." He rasped lowly.
An awkward deaf silence hit the ambiance of the room, orbs of honey brown against orbs of black, but Ser Lancelot had more power over the widowed Queen.
Sighing, Queen Alicent stood up, closed her eyes, raising her hand to the laces of her green gown. Pulling its string, the fabric fell slowly to the ground, pooling around her ankles. Back straight, she stood without flinching even as her naked body became exposed to the leering stare of the lecherous cripple.
YOU ARE READING
Of Bastards & Dragons || Aenar Targaryen
Fantasy"F-fuck." Alicent's shudders bitting her lips as his girth shifts her womb. "Argh!..." Aenar groans into her ear as he grasped her hips and thrust, hours and hours of his own pent-up desire, fuelling each lunge into her, the silky sheath of his stee...
