The kiss was not the hesitant touch of a youth, but the hungry, authoritative claim of a dragon. Rhaenyra's world tilted. The jasmine and sea salt of Dragonstone seemed to ignite as Jacaerys pulled her flush against him. His strength was unlike anything she had ever felt—unyielding and solid, a physical manifestation of the power he had been cultivating in secret.
For a heartbeat, the shock of the taboo surged through her. This was her son, her eldest. But as his tongue traced her lips and his hands, large and certain, gripped her waist, the maternal instinct was incinerated by a primal, Targaryen fire. Their blood was the same, a river of gold and flame that had bound brother to sister for centuries. Why should mother and son be any different?
Jace pulled back just an inch, his violet eyes glowing with an intensity that demanded submission. You are the Queen, he whispered against her skin, his voice a vibration she felt in her very bones. And a Queen needs a King who can match her fire. Not a drunkard like Aegon, not a rogue like Daemon. Me.
Rhaenyra's breath came in ragged gasps. She looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the divine perfection he had hidden. The way his skin seemed to shimmer, the sheer density of his presence. She felt the enhancement he had been feeding her for years reach its peak. Her own desire was no longer a flicker; it was a roar.
Take me inside, she commanded, her voice thick with a sudden, desperate longing.
Jace didn't hesitate. He swept her into his arms, his Supernatural Senses ensuring they were not seen by any servant or guard as he moved toward her private chambers. Inside, the hearth fire roared as if sensing their arrival.
He set her down beside the massive bed, his movements fluid and predatory. He began to unlace her bodice with a Skill Mastery that turned the simple act into a symphony of sensation. Every touch of his fingers sent jolts of electricity through her. He was exploring her body not just with his hands, but with his supernatural awareness, knowing exactly where she was most sensitive, where her pulse throbbed the hardest.
When her silk gown pooled at her feet, Jace stepped back to remove his own tunic. Rhaenyra gasped. His body was a masterpiece of marble and corded muscle, scars from his training yard "labors" barely visible beneath the radiance of his Divine Blood.
The first time was a storm. Jace was not gentle, nor was he cruel; he was inevitable. He worshipped her with an intensity that bordered on the religious, his supernatural stamina allowing him to push her beyond the limits of ordinary pleasure. He used his Skill Mastery to learn the map of her body in minutes, his touches drawing out cries she didn't know she could make.
The smut was intense and detailed. Jace focused on every inch of her, his Supernatural Senses allowing him to feel her internal heat, her every contraction, and the way her blood sang in response to his. He tasted her as if she were the source of life itself, his tongue and teeth leaving marks that would heal by morning thanks to the subtle aura he projected. When he finally joined with her, it was a union of fire and soul. The sensation was overwhelming—a divine connection that made her feel as though they were flying through the clouds on Syrax and Vormax together.
Hours later, as the moon climbed high over the Narrow Sea, they lay tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Rhaenyra's head was on his chest, listening to the slow, powerful thrum of his heart. She felt more alive, more powerful, and more complete than she ever had.
I can never go back, she whispered, tracing the lines of his shoulder. I can never look at another man.
You won't have to, Jace replied, kissing her hair. From this moment on, you are mine. We will rule this world together, and our children will be the purest dragons the world has ever seen.
He sat up, his expression turning to the cold, calculating mask of a King. The news of Viserys's death would reach them soon. The Greens would move. But they were walking into a trap.
While Jace had been in the bedchamber, his network was already moving. Across Westeros, his "enhanced" agents were taking their positions. In the kitchens of the Red Keep, in the stables of Oldtown, and in the halls of Winterfell, his people waited for the signal. They didn't know why they felt such a fierce loyalty to the young prince, only that they would die before they betrayed him.
The Dance is about to begin, Mother, Jace said, his eyes turning toward the window where the dark shape of Vormax circled the peaks. Let them crown their puppet King. We will give them a war they aren't prepared for.
Rhaenyra sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal her radiant, enhanced beauty. A cold, regal smile touched her lips. Then let us begin, my King.