I've never been religious. Raised agnostic, I never quite grasped the idea of worshiping some unseen deity. But with Rhaenyra in my hands, with her trembling under me, I think I finally understood what it meant to believe in something higher. Between her thighs, with the heat of her desire on my tongue, I found a kind of divinity—something sacred and overwhelming.
In that moment, it was as if I had discovered a new form of worship, one that felt more real and profound than any faith I'd ever heard of.
There was something indescribable about bringing Rhaenyra to the edge, something that made me feel invincible, like the most powerful woman in the room. Perhaps it was because, in that moment, I had the most powerful woman in this world unraveling beneath my touch, reduced to something utterly human and vulnerable. Her composure, her regal presence—all of it melted away. What was left wasn't the Queen of Westeros or the commanding figure known to bend even the strongest wills.
It was simply Rhaenyra, stripped of her titles, lost in the sensations I gave her.
The way she responded was intoxicating. The sounds—barely audible whimpers, soft little gasps—were so unlike the voice she used in the council chambers or when commanding armies. Her body, gods, her body reacted to every movement, every stroke, as if her very skin sought out my lips, my hands, as if she needed the contact to survive. Her muscles tensed and shifted under my touch, and I could feel her whole being surrender to the pleasure I was giving her.
As I looked up from my place between her legs, I saw her head thrown back against the couch, her body arching in a way that exposed her throat in the most tantalizing manner. The whimpers that escaped her lips were like music to me. Her hand, which often guided with a firm grip, now gently threaded through my hair, not pulling or directing, but simply touching—softly.
Everything about her in this moment was gentle, every interaction imbued with a tender softness that was both intimate and profoundly moving. The sheer vulnerability and trust she displayed were so moving that they nearly brought tears to my eyes. As I brought my lips to the tiny, sensitive bud that made Rhaenyra's legs tremble around my ears, the moment felt almost sacred.
"Elizabeth," she whimpered, her voice trembling as she uttered my name. The way she said it, filled with such raw emotion, was like a soft, intimate confession—a fragile whisper that cut through the room, carrying with it the weight of her complete surrender and trust.
I took my time, savoring every moment as I moved my tongue slowly, deliberately, not wanting to rush this. I wanted to prolong the sensation, to draw out her pleasure until it was almost unbearable. Each stroke was measured, each flick of my tongue designed to push her just a little closer to the edge without letting her fall. Her body responded to every subtle movement, her trembling legs tightening around me, but I resisted the urge to quicken my pace.
This wasn't something to hurry—it was something to savor, to cherish in its entirety.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice fragile and breathless, the soft plea wrapping around my heart like a vice grip. The sound of her begging, so unlike the powerful queen she usually was, sent a shiver through me. It was a surrender not just of her body but of her pride, her control—everything that made Rhaenyra who she was. The weight of that trust, the vulnerability she allowed herself to show, made my heart pound in my chest.
I wanted to tell her it was okay, that I had her, that she was safe in my hands. God, I had the overwhelming urge to call her "baby," to offer her that simple, intimate reassurance, but that would mean pulling my mouth away from her—and there was no chance of that, not when I had her so close. Instead, I let my actions speak for me. I slid my hand up and entered her, first two fingers, then three, the slick warmth of her drawing me in. The sheer wetness still took my breath away every time.
Rhaenyra's body reacted instantly, practically levitating off the couch, her back arching as if she were trying to escape and chase the sensation all at once. I pressed my hand down on her abdomen to keep her in place, holding her grounded while her entire body trembled with the intensity of it.
The sound that tore from her throat—half cry, half groan—was the loudest she'd made so far, raw and desperate, filling the room and sending a surge of heat through me. It was like she was unraveling under me, completely lost in the pleasure, and I was determined to keep her right there, suspended in that overwhelming bliss for as long as possible.
Her body quaked beneath my touch, every tremor pulling me deeper into the moment. The weight of her pleasure, her surrender, was something I could almost feel pulsing through my own veins. I kept my pace steady, each movement calculated but gentle, letting her ride the wave without pushing her too far too fast. Her hand slid down to intertwine with mine at her abdomen, our fingers interlocking and squeezing as if to anchor her. Meanwhile, my fingers moved in rhythm inside her, matching the flicks of my tongue with deliberate, synchronized motions.
Her breath came in sharp, erratic bursts, each one catching in her throat as if the pleasure was overwhelming her, and I could feel her tightening around my fingers. The closer she got, the more desperate she became—her free hand fisted in the couch cushion, her legs shaking uncontrollably, as if she was fighting to stay tethered to reality. But I didn't let up. I wanted her to let go, to feel safe enough to fall completely apart in my hands.
"Elizabeth," she whimpered again, her voice breaking as her body began to tense, the pressure building between us like a storm ready to break. I knew she was close, teetering on the brink, and I wanted to give her everything—to push her over the edge and watch her shatter with a kind of release that was as much emotional as it was physical. The rawness of her need, her vulnerability, was a gift she rarely gave, and I treated it with the reverence it deserved.
I curled my fingers inside her just right, hitting that perfect spot, and felt her entire body freeze for a heartbeat. Then she broke. The cry that left her was primal, a sound ripped from the deepest part of her as the tension exploded, and she came hard, her body shaking, every muscle in her frame locking up as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
I held her through it, my fingers and mouth never faltering, drawing out every second of her release, wanting her to feel every bit of it. She was beautiful like this—raw, unguarded, and completely undone.
When the last ripples of her orgasm finally subsided, I gently pulled away, my lips and fingers lingering for just a moment longer, savoring the last traces of her warmth. As I looked up, Rhaenyra was sprawled back against the couch, utterly sated. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath, one hand draped across her eyes, shielding her from the world in her vulnerable state.
Her entire body still trembled with aftershocks, tiny afterquakes that seemed to course through her with every exhale. The sight of her—completely undone, the mighty queen reduced to pure, unfiltered bliss—made my chest swell with a strange mixture of pride and tenderness. There was something so intimate in seeing her like this, a side of her that only I was allowed to witness, and it made my heart ache in the best possible way.
I wanted to say something, to break the silence that hung between us, but the moment felt too sacred, too intimate, to be disrupted by words. Instead, I slowly stood up from my knees, ignoring the dull ache that had settled in them, and moved forward with purpose. I let my lips trail upward, starting at her trembling legs, pressing soft kisses along her skin, chasing the aftershocks still running through her body. I kissed my way up to her hips, her stomach, and then her breast, carefully avoiding her sensitive nipples, knowing she was still tender from the intensity of it all.
Rhaenyra let out the tiniest sighs of contentment with each kiss, her breath evening out, though her body remained warm and soft beneath me. I placed a few lingering kisses on her collarbone, savoring the closeness, the quiet between us filled with nothing but the gentle sound of our breathing. As I allowed my full weight to settle against her, naked skin pressing against naked skin, it felt like we were coming together in a way that was more than physical. It was a quiet, unspoken connection—one that didn't need words.
I kissed my way up her neck, slow and deliberate, before resting my head on her shoulder, nuzzling in close. Our bodies melded together, and I felt her arms come around me, pulling me even closer, as if neither of us wanted to let go of this sacred stillness. Cuddled against her, I could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my cheek, and in that moment, everything felt right, as though the world outside couldn't touch us.
"It's never felt like this before," Rhaenyra murmured, her voice still raw but tinged with a soft awe. She was gently combing her fingers through my hair, each stroke slow and deliberate. "Is it always like this with a woman?"
I couldn't help but snort into her chest, the sound muffled against her skin. I wasn't exactly the authority on lesbian sex—my experience was mostly limited to a handful of messy one-night stands back in college, fueled by far too much Absolut Vodka and questionable decisions.
But even through the fog of those nights, I remembered enough to know that, yes, sex with women did tend to feel different. Better, in some ways. Softer, more intimate, more powerful. Yet those fleeting experiences—they had nothing on this. Nothing compared to how Rhaenyra and I fit together, the way we melded so seamlessly, like two parts of the same whole. There was a perfect balance between us, this constant push and pull, the soft and the hard, the tender and the fierce. It felt as though we were made for one another, every touch and every breath in sync, as if our bodies had known each other for lifetimes.
This—what we had just shared—was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't just sex; it was something deeper, something primal and pure. It was the best sex of my life, not because of the physical pleasure, though that had been incredible, but because of the connection, the trust, the way we had opened ourselves to each other. It was as if every barrier had fallen away, leaving us both vulnerable and yet stronger than ever in each other's arms.
"I think it's just us," I said softly to Rhaenyra, my voice barely above a whisper as I rested against her. The words felt right, like an undeniable truth. It wasn't just about the physicality of what we shared—it was something far deeper, something unique to us.
Her hand stilled in my hair, and I felt her shift slightly beneath me as if she was considering the weight of those words. I lifted my head, meeting her gaze, and in her eyes, I saw the same recognition, the same understanding. This connection, this bond we had forged, was unlike anything I'd ever known before. It wasn't something that could be replicated, or found with anyone else.
She didn't need to say anything in response. The way her fingers gently resumed combing through my hair, the soft smile that touched her lips, told me she felt it too. This was ours, and only ours.
A chill moved through the air as the fire began to die down, its warmth fading from the room. I shivered slightly, and Rhaenyra, ever attentive, reached behind the couch without a word. A moment later, I felt the softness of a fur blanket drape over our bodies, its luxurious weight settling over us like a protective shield from the cold.
The warmth of her body beneath me and the soft fur above us created a cocoon of safety, as if the outside world couldn't touch us in this moment. Rhaenyra's arm slid back around me, pulling me closer under the blanket, and I nestled into her, the scent of her skin still intoxicating. Wrapped up together like this, with the crackling fire now little more than glowing embers, everything felt perfect.
Timeless.
My eyes grew heavy, and I pressed a soft kiss to her chest, my lips brushing against her warm skin. With a sleepy murmur, I whispered directly into her.
"I should go back—I'm seconds away from falling asleep."
But before I could even gather the will to move, Rhaenyra's arms tightened around me, her body curling closer to mine, holding me in place. It was as if she sensed my hesitation, my reluctance to leave.
"Stay," she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy, but filled with a quiet insistence.
There was no command in her tone, just a gentle plea. And in that moment, wrapped in her warmth, the fur blanket cocooning us, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
The world could wait.
Everything outside this moment could wait.
***
The following day, I was completely lost in my thoughts, replaying every moment of last night in vivid detail. The way Rhaenyra's lips had moved against mine, the warmth of her body pressed so close, her little whimpers still echoing in my ears. I could still feel her fingertips grazing my skin, her breath warm against my neck. God, the memory of it made my heart race even now, a warm glow spreading through my chest.
I barely registered the ongoing council meeting, my mind too wrapped up in the night we had shared. Every time I tried to focus on the discussions happening around me, my thoughts dragged me back to Rhaenyra, to the softness of her touch, the heat in her eyes when she looked at me.
Then the sound of chairs scraping against stone snapped me out of my daze. I blinked, startled, as the council members stood, gathering their notes and papers. The meeting was over, and I had missed half of it, my mind entirely elsewhere.
I moved to follow the group, slipping into the familiar routine of standing and filing out with the others when Rhaenyra's voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Doctor," she called, her tone authoritative but warm. "Stay for a moment."
I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned back to her. She remained seated at the head of the table, her expression calm but with a hint of something playful behind her eyes. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and I found myself curious—and a little anxious.
I nodded, stepping aside as the others filtered out of the room. The last of them gave respectful nods to Rhaenyra as they left, leaving us alone in the now-quiet council chamber. I approached her cautiously, my mind racing with questions. What was this about?
"What's going on?" I asked, tilting my head as I watched her, trying to read her expression.
"Just one second," she said, her eyes flicking toward the door to the side. There was something mischievous in her gaze, and I could tell she was waiting for something.
I barely had time to wonder what it was before the door burst open, and two familiar small figures came racing into the room. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they bolted toward their mother with wide, excited grins.
"Mother, the council meeting is over!" Joffrey's voice rang out, filled with glee as he skidded to a stop in front of Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra's smile softened as she looked down at her sons, her whole demeanor shifting from queen to mother in an instant.
"It is," she said, her voice gentle but full of affection.
Lucerys, bouncing on the balls of his feet with uncontainable excitement, spoke next.
"Does that mean it's time?" he asked, his eyes lighting up as he looked between me and Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra's gaze shifted toward me, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She lifted a brow, clearly amused by something.
I looked at her, then at the boys, completely confused.
"Time for what, exactly?" I asked, glancing between them.
"Pizza!" Joffrey shouted, throwing his fist into the air triumphantly as if he had just declared a great victory.
***
I stood in the kitchens, my sleeves rolled up, staring down at the ingredients spread out in front of me—flour, tomatoes, cheese, and various herbs. It was a simple setup, but the excitement radiating off Lucerys and Joffrey made it feel like I was preparing a grand feast.
Rhaenyra had, unsurprisingly, bailed at the last minute, something about urgent "royal business." She'd put on a very convincing act for the boys, her voice heavy with disappointment, telling them how much she wished she could stay and make pizza with us. But the knowing smirk she shot me over their heads as she left the room told me otherwise.
Oh, she had this planned from the start.
That woman was far too good at playing her hand, and judging by the look in her eyes as she departed, leaving me alone with her sons was all part of the game. She'd known exactly what she was doing when she teased me, her words lingering in the air as I stood there, caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
Now, here I was, in the kitchen with Lucerys and Joffrey, their excitement palpable as they watched me with wide eyes, waiting for the magic of pizza-making to unfold.
"Alright, boys," I said, clapping my hands together, "you ready to get started?"
Lucerys nodded eagerly, stepping closer to the counter with a determined look on his face. "I want to help!"
Joffrey, on the other hand, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting between the ingredients with pure enthusiasm. "Me too! What do we do first?"
I smiled at their eagerness, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. There was something undeniably sweet about the way they looked at me, trusting and curious, waiting for me to teach them something entirely new.
"Well, first," I said, grabbing a bowl and some flour, "we make the dough."
Lucerys peered into the bowl, his brow furrowed with concentration as I poured in the flour, and then Joffrey, ever impatient, reached out to grab a handful.
"Whoa, easy there," I laughed, catching his wrist before flour exploded all over the table. "Let me show you how to do it without making a mess, alright?"
Joffrey grinned sheepishly, pulling his hand back, while Lucerys rolled his eyes at his younger brother.
"Mother said we're supposed to follow her directions, Joffrey."
"I know!" Joffrey replied, clearly unbothered, his grin as wide as ever.
I guided them through the process, showing them how to add the water and yeast, and then how to mix it all together. They were both surprisingly good at listening once they got into the rhythm of it, though Joffrey's enthusiasm still led to the occasional flour explosion. Lucerys, ever the serious one, took his time, carefully kneading the dough with a level of focus that made me smile.
As we worked, I couldn't help but think back to Rhaenyra's departure, the way she'd looked at me before leaving, that secretive smirk curling her lips. She'd known what this would mean—spending time with her boys, getting to know them, creating something with them. It wasn't just about the pizza. She was letting me into their lives in a way that felt incredibly personal.
And damn, I was falling for them too.
Lucerys wiped his flour-covered hands on his tunic, clearly not caring about the mess, and looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.
"Is this how you always made pizza where you are from?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.
I chuckled, nodding as I continued kneading the dough.
"Yeah, pretty much. Except I used to do it in a bar, with people running around and yelling orders. It wasn't quite this peaceful."
We moved on to preparing the sauce, crushing tomatoes and adding herbs, their excitement never wavering. Joffrey, especially, seemed to take great pride in being the one to stir the pot, even if he got a little overzealous and splashed sauce onto the counter more than once.
By the time we slid the pizza into the oven, Lucerys and Joffrey were practically bouncing with excitement, their eyes glued to the fire as it crackled and sparked around the dough.
"How long does it take?" Joffrey asked, his voice filled with impatience.
"Not long," I assured him, ruffling his hair. "Just a few minutes."
As the smell of baking dough and melting cheese filled the kitchen, I couldn't help but smile. The boys were practically vibrating with anticipation, and honestly, I couldn't wait to see their reactions.
The pizza was finally done, its golden crust bubbling with melted cheese, and I pulled it out of the oven, setting it carefully on the counter. The boys were practically vibrating with excitement, their eyes wide as they watched the steam rise from the piping-hot pie.
I grabbed a knife and sliced through the crust, the cheese stretching with every cut.
"It's hot," I warned, dishing out a piece for each of them. Lucerys and Joffrey stood there, hands twitching, clearly fighting the urge to grab it immediately despite the heat.
Lucerys looked down at his slice, his face caught between awe and confusion.
"It doesn't look very good," he said skeptically, his brow furrowed as if unsure whether to trust the strange, unfamiliar dish in front of him.
I couldn't help but chuckle at his expression.
"I know," I said, grinning at him. "But trust me, this... this is something special."
Joffrey, less patient, blew on his slice and took a cautious bite. His eyes widened instantly, and he looked at Lucerys in disbelief.
"It's amazing!" he declared, mouth still half-full, cheeks reddening from the heat.
Lucerys hesitated for a moment, watching his brother, then picked up his own slice, tentatively bringing it to his lips. The moment the taste hit his tongue, his expression shifted from doubt to pure delight.
"Whoa," he mumbled, before diving in for another bite, any lingering skepticism gone.
I smiled, watching them devour their pizza with pure joy, their laughter and excitement filling the room.
"Told you," I said, feeling the warmth of the moment, not just from the pizza, but from the shared experience that would soon become a cherished memory.
As the boys and I stood at the counter, savoring our first bites of the pizza, the kitchen was filled with the sounds of laughter and the savory aroma of cheese and spices. Joffrey, his face smeared with sauce from his enthusiastic eating, was animatedly telling a story, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. Lucerys and I couldn't help but laugh at his antics, his sauce-covered face making the whole scene even more comical.
In the midst of the laughter and Joffrey's dramatic storytelling, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over Joffrey's shoulder and saw Rhaenyra standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe. She wore a soft, affectionate smile, as if she had been watching the scene unfold for a while, taking in the joyful chaos and the simple pleasure of the moment.
"Looks like we've got an audience," I said, nudging Lucerys with my elbow. He turned and saw Rhaenyra, his eyes widening in recognition and a shy grin spreading across his face.
Joffrey, noticing the distraction, turned and his eyes lit up with excitement.
"Mother!" he called out, his voice muffled by a mouthful of pizza. "You should try some of this pizza!"
Rhaenyra's smile broadened, and she stepped away from the doorframe, her presence bringing a new layer of warmth to the kitchen. She walked over to the counter, where I had set out the remaining slices.
She looked down at the pizza, then raised an eyebrow at me, her expression silently questioning, "This is your favorite food?" The look on her face was a mix of curiosity and skepticism, as though she couldn't quite believe something so simple could be held in such high regard.
I couldn't help but smile back at her, raising my own brow in return, silently saying, "Just try it."
Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at me in a playful challenge before turning her attention back to the pizza in front of her. She studied it for a moment, clearly weighing the decision.
"You just eat it with your hands, Mother," Lucerys chimed in, picking up another slice to demonstrate. He held it up, carefully folding it the way I had shown them, and took a big bite. "See?" he said, his voice muffled around his mouthful of food.
Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose slightly, the idea of eating with her hands clearly going against everything she'd been taught. She hesitated, her royal upbringing battling with the playful atmosphere of the kitchen. It was as though eating without utensils was a concept so foreign to her, a breach of all the etiquette and poise that had been drilled into her from birth.
Still, with a deep breath, she reached forward and grabbed a slice, folded it the way Lucerys had shown her and cautiously brought it to her lips. She took a small bite, her brow furrowing slightly as she chewed. For a brief moment, I thought she might still be unsure, but then her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
"Well," she said after swallowing, her tone light and playful, "its not terrible." Her crinkled nose relaxed, and she glanced at the boys, who were grinning up at her with sauce-stained faces, clearly proud that their mother had joined in on their little pizza adventure.
The sight of Rhaenyra, usually so composed and regal, standing in our kitchen with a slice of pizza in hand, laughing softly, made my heart swell. It was a simple, joyful moment—one where the barriers of royalty, titles, and expectations didn't matter. It was like we were in our own little bubble, sharing food, laughter, and love.
The boys were chattering away, lost in their own world, as they devoured slice after slice of pizza. It wasn't long before more than half of the pizza had disappeared between them, their laughter and animated conversation filling the room. Lucerys was in the middle of telling Joffrey a story, something about an adventure they'd imagined earlier in the day. Their excitement was infectious, and Rhaenyra and I couldn't help but watch them, smiling at their joy.
But as I glanced over at Rhaenyra, I noticed something that hadn't been there before—a flicker in her eyes, a shadow of something that made her smile seem a little more forced than usual. She was still watching her sons with affection, but there was a tightness to her expression, like something heavy was weighing on her mind.
Lucerys continued his story, drawing Joffrey further into his tale, and with the boys so absorbed in their conversation, I took the chance to reach out and tap Rhaenyra lightly on the elbow. Her gaze shifted to me, and I kept my voice low, not wanting to disturb the boys' moment.
"Everything okay?" I asked softly, searching her eyes for an answer.
Rhaenyra's eyes flickered back to her sons, checking to make sure they were still engrossed in their talk, before returning to me. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could tell, even before she spoke, that whatever she was about to say, I wasn't going to like it.
"We need to leave for Harrenhal tonight," she said quietly, her voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of tension.
Harrenhal.
The name echoed in my mind, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I looked at her. The way her jaw tightened, the subtle but unmistakable anxiety in her eyes—it all pointed to one thing.
Daemon.
Fuck.