"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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"You speak of power," she whispered, "but all you really want is to break me."
He said nothing.
“I won’t lose to another woman,” Alicent went on, her voice trembling, not from fear, but from sheer resolve. “I won’t be a pawn in your bed. If I’m to be marked, let it be on my own terms. I’ll write the ending, even if it damns me, your name will be etched into the pages.”
Maegor stepped toward her slowly, as if drawn to a fire he couldn’t resist.
She met his gaze, unflinching.
“You’re playing with fire, Lady Alicent,” Maegor warned, his tone very low.
“Then let me burn,” she murmured, her words brushing against his mouth. “If you think you can handle it.”
Maegor’s eyes raked over her, slow and deliberate, before he spoke in a low, cutting tone.
“You reek of desperation.”
Alicent didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, bare and unyielding, the firelight catching the gleam of her skin. Her voice was smooth almost mocking, yet darkly seductive.
“And you ache to defile me.” She tilted her head, her gaze steady, voice soft enough to stir something primal in him.
“Tell me, my King… will you hate yourself after? Or will you hate that you ever touched someone else before me?”
Maegor’s breath caught. For a moment, the image of Charlotte flashed in his mind,her tear-streaked face, the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. That encounter had left him with guilt. A sourness he couldn’t shake.
But Alicent was different. She didn’t tremble. She challenged him. Naked, yes but not vulnerable. No, she stood before him as if she belonged to no one. As if she’d come to conquer, not to yield.
He hated how much he wanted her.
And gods, he wanted her.
She moved closer, her voice a whisper now, sinful and certain.
“You’ve imagined it. My mouth. My thighs. The sound I’ll make when you break me.” Her fingers skimmed lightly across his chest, trailing downward. “You can stop pretending now.”
A shadow crossed Maegor’s face. Disgust no longer lingered. Guilt faded to hunger.
He was glad she'd come.
He'd been meaning to have her.
And now, nothing, not shame, not memory, not honour, would keep him from doing exactly that.
Her lips barely brushed his, but the challenge in her eyes lit something in him.
Without another word, Maegor pulled her close and kissed her fierce, urgent. His hands moved over her neck, down her spine, settling at her hips. Their breath mingled, heavy with heat, claiming her with a hunger that matched her own.
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