Terms of Endearment │Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

Chapter 32: Public

"The Princess and her husband settled quickly into their new marriage, soon becoming the envy of every noble at court. Prince Daemon paid lavish attention to her, and the pair were often observed in each other's company both within the capital and on their home isle of Dragonstone. Rumours abound in common legend that this time together was frequently passionate in nature, and many figures attest to witnessing the pair in intimate embraces."

- 'Dragoness: A History of the Women Who Shaped House Targaryen' by Maester Harewin

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THE PRINCESS

Your brow furrows in confusion as Daemon tugs you through the empty Great Hall, pulling you up the steps to the left and through the door that leads to the antechamber of the Small Council room. A modest space, it serves primarily as a storeroom, a stockpile of maps and banners and crumbling records that had gathered dust since the days of Maegor the Cruel.

"What are we doing?" you hiss. Daemon turns to you, placing a finger to his lips and shushing you.

You are only more confused when your uncle leads you past the storeroom and further on, to the very end of the narrow hall where one can see the Small Council chamber itself through the gilded metal grating, a row of round perforations through which one can peer into the inner workings of governance.

Come to think of it, you muse, the door to the antechamber is usually guarded. What is going on?

The voices of your father's councilmen waft through the divider as your husband pushes you to the side and against the wall, grinning down at you with roguish intent.

"Lord Lyman, where are we at with..."

From the way his gaze drops down to your lips, his large hands coming up to span your hips, it begins to dawn on you what exactly he has planned.

Anywhere and everywhere, little girl.

You open your mouth to scold him for such indecency, preparing to dress him down for thinking he could take his husbandly rights with the statesmen of King's Landing in the very same space. His lips crush against yours before you get the chance, taking advantage of your parted jaw to wind his tongue with yours, the taste of spiced wine and candied oranges tingling along your palate. You curse the softening of your will as you allow him to clutch against your throat, to grind his hips against yours. With the many layers of your skirts in the way, there is next to no friction, just a barely-there pressure that promises at the hint of pleasure should you choose to further the proceedings.

Daemon mouths across your cheek to your ear, nibbling playfully at the lobe and making you shiver.

"Last time, the Council watched us in our chambers as we fucked," he whispers, his hot breath making you shudder involuntarily. "Let's get even—this time, we'll watch them in their chambers as we fuck."

"I—I think the poetic justice would be if we watched them c-couple, not if we did," you say weakly, equally as quiet. Your heart is not in it. The thought of sullying these chambers as the men beyond had attempted to sully your wedding night brings you a perverse sense of satisfaction, no doubt the effects of your husband's influence.

Daemon huffs a laugh against your neck. "I didn't know you were particularly interested in seeing any of those old cunts wet their cocks, sweet girl," he teases.