𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

22

"Hold your approach!" the guards shouted.

"Do not, Ser Criston," the commander of the city watch warned as Ivar stepped forward.

"I don't think you want to come any closer, guard," Ivar spat, pressing his dagger to Criston's throat. "I will not hesitate to kill you."

"You're a savage," Criston sneered.

Ivar laughed darkly. "I prefer to be a savage than a traitor."

"You've gone too far, Alicent," Daenaera sneered.

"I?" Alicent asked, holding the dagger close to the princess's left eye. "What have I done but what was expected? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law... while you and your sister flout your duties and do as you please."

"Alicent, let the princess go!" the king yelled again, but Alicent didn't move.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled beneath your pretty feet again."

"Release the blade, Alicent!" Otto's voice finally broke through the tension.

"And now she has taken my son's eye, and still she feels entitled."

"Exhausting, isn't it?" Daenaera spoke coldly. "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you truly are." She whispered the last part, locking eyes with Alicent.

Daenaera pushed Alicent backward—but the blade cut the princess's wrist.

Lord Corlys was behind Daenaera and immediately saw the blood.

Ivar rushed to his wife's side as soon as he heard the noise.

"Det vil bli bra, min kjære. Det blir ok. Mi sweot wærador."
(It will be fine, my wife. It'll be okay. My sweet warrior.)

He kissed her forehead and squeezed her arm gently.

Daenaera looked down at her bleeding wrist, blood dripping down Alicent's arm. Shock flickered across Daenaera's face as she looked at Ivar and then Rhaenyra.

"Don't mourn me, mother," Aemond said, standing from his seat. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

"Jeg skal drepe denne dritten." (I'll kill this bastard.)

Ivar muttered in his mother tongue, the cold fury only his wife could understand. His face was a mask of anger and irritation.

"Ivar," Daenaera called softly, "let's go, my love."

Ivar turned to the green-eyed princess as they left the room.

"Mi sweot wærador," he whispered, kissing her head.

Daemon, standing beside Ivar, pushed Criston and the guards aside and made his way toward Rhaenyra and her children.

⸻

After the maesters bandaged Daenaera's hand, she sat on their bed next to Ivar.

Ivar was a man of many faces. But to Daenaera, he was soft and tender.

"Fuck, my love, how good you feel around my cock," he murmured, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she moved in serpentine rhythm against him.

His thick cock drove her fully, hitting every angle, every depth.

For this Viking, love had never matched the roaring flare of desire—until he met Daenaera. Until she showed him, told him, made him feel it, deep in his bones.

His thumb dragged heat across her aching bud, sparks roaring up her spine as she cried out.

"You're always at your most beautiful when you..."

He trailed off, his words drowned out by her crescendo, grinning deeply as he watched her shatter.

She unraveled atop him, a trembling wreck.

"...when you fall apart like that for me."