Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking
[142] Family Dinner

Chapter 142: Family Dinner

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"Ahhh... oh gods... oh my king!" Kinvara's voice cracked as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her back arching off the silk sheets like a bow drawn taut.

Her legs wrapped around Viserys's waist, pulling him deeper as he thrust into her with relentless precision. Her words dissolved into incoherent cries as he grabbed her breast, thumb circling her nipple with exquisite pressure, while the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks.

"Look at you," he growled against her throat, his voice rough with desire. "The High Priestess, reduced to begging. What would your followers think?"

"They would—ah!—envy me," she managed, her eyes fluttering closed as another wave crashed over her. "They would worship you as I do."

“Worship? How heretical. The mighty High Priestess, reduced to moaning like a common whore,” he laughed.

"Yes, yes, your whore," she gasped, her nails raking down his back as another spasm tore through her. "Only yours... fuck, what have you done to me?"

Her head thrashed against the pillows, dark hair spread like spilled wine across the pale silk. Every nerve in her body sang with an intensity she'd never experienced, not in centuries of existence. The ruby at her throat pulsed with her racing heartbeat as pleasure built to impossible heights.

"Why... why does it feel like this?" she panted between thrusts, her voice breaking on a particularly deep stroke. "It's never been... gods, I can't..."

Viserys captured her lips in a bruising kiss before pulling back to study her flushed face. "Huh, did it not feel good before? Were you just acting then? All those times we’ve been together before?"

A breathless laugh escaped her. "No... no, you were always magnificent. Strong, big, skilled..." Her words dissolved into a moan as he hit that perfect spot inside her. "But this... this is different. It's like fire in my veins, like R'hllor himself is—"

Her sentence shattered as another climax ripped through her, more intense than the last. Her eyes rolled back, showing only white, as her body convulsed beneath him. Coherent thought fled, replaced by pure sensation that threatened to consume her entirely.

What sorcery is this? she wondered dimly through the haze of pleasure, as another orgasm hit her. What has changed?

Viserys watched her unravel with dark satisfaction.

She didn’t know about the System’s wonderful Skills, of course. The Dragondick had evolved considerably since their early encounters—Rank C now, and the effects were unmistakable. Every woman who experienced it became addicted, craving more with an intensity that bordered on madness.

"That's it," he murmured, his pace becoming erratic as his own release approached. "Let go completely. Show me how much you need this."

Kinvara could only whimper in response, her body a vessel for sensations beyond her understanding. The careful control she'd maintained for centuries crumbled like parchment in flame. She was reduced to base need, to the primal desire for completion that drove all living things.

When Viserys pulled out at the last moment, spilling his seed across her trembling stomach, she actually whined in protest.

"Ugh, still so careful?" she pouted, her voice hoarse from screaming. Despite her exhaustion, her hand reached for him, fingers wrapping around his still-hard length. "After all we've shared, you still won't fill me properly?"

Her touch was electric, sending jolts through him as she stroked with practiced skill. The ruby at her throat glowed brighter, as if feeding off their shared passion.

"Greedy priestess," he chuckled, but there was heat in his eyes.

He grabbed her by the waist and turned her around, his hand moving behind her head to push her face into the sheet. She let out a muffled scream as he positioned himself over her again. 

"But no, not yet,” he said. “In exchange, I’ll fulfil your wish of being thoroughly worshipped… Trust me, you’ll love it."

The last thing Kinvara saw before pleasure claimed her completely was him yanking her backwards by her hair, bringing her face against his, as his violet eyes burnt like dragonfire in the torchlight. 

It delved into hours more of the exquisite torment that had already shattered her so completely.

****

Ultimately, it didn't hurt to give her Regeneration, too. It wasn't as if she weren't an immortal already, bound to her god, ageless. So I agreed to her demand.

However, the true problem wasn't the magic itself, but the people needed. The components for Arianne's ritual. 

And Ros's, should I choose to extend the same boon.

Look, I didn't mind necessary sacrifice for significant personal benefit. I wasn't some naive hero, shrinking from the harsh realities of power. But at the same time, I had no desire to harm my own people, those sworn to me in King's Landing or the newly pacified Westerlands. 

Reputation, for one, was a delicate thing; a king who fed on his flock, even for esoteric ends, bred dissent. Besides, there were alternatives, far more efficient.

Once again, this imperative connected to extending my fingers deep into Essos. Once Yara Greyjoy returned from securing Casterly Rock, we would discuss the plans for raiding the lands beyond the Free Cities. There, amongst the chaos and the so-called 'uncivilized,' I'd filter out a section of virgins suitable for this purpose. 

It shouldn't prove overly difficult, though it meant Arianne would have to cultivate her Dornish patience for a few more months before we reaped the rewards of her... renewal.

Power demands sacrifice. The wise choose whose blood to spill.

“This is delicious,” Kinvara’s sudden exclamation brought me out of my thoughts. 

The private dining chamber in the Red Keep gleamed with understated opulence as evening shadows danced across ancient artworks. 

Golden light from dozens of candles cast warm glows that seemed to caress the assembled company, the flames reflecting off polished silver and the ruby-encrusted goblets that held Dornish wine.

I sat at the head of the long table, observing the careful choreography of power that played out before me. To my right, Daenerys commanded attention without effort, her transformed beauty a living reminder that dragons had returned to the world. Her silver-white hair had been woven into an intricate braid that spoke of royal authority.

Her gown tonight was a masterpiece of black silk flowing across her curves. The bodice pushed up her breasts enticingly, creating a valley of pale flesh that contrasted with the dark scales woven into the fabric. When she moved to reach for her wine, the gesture was fluid, predatory—every inch the dragon queen. It was attractive.

Margaery sat to my left, resplendent in rose-gold silk that emphasized every political ambition she harbored. Her brown hair cascaded in perfect waves, and when she smiled, it was calculated to devastating effect. The cut of her gown was modest by Dornish standards but revealed enough of her creamy décolletage to remind everyone present why roses had pink thorns.

Across from her, Arianne lounged with characteristic Dornish confidence, her bronze skin glowing in the candlelight. Naturally, her gown was near scandalous. When she reached for the salt, her back arched just enough to draw every eye in the room.

Sansa maintained perfect Northern propriety at the far end, her auburn hair gleaming like burnished copper. Her gown of Stark gray was elegantly cut, the white fur trim emphasizing her pale throat and the graceful line of her shoulders. She observed more than she spoke, those blue eyes missing nothing.

And then there was Kinvara, seated between Arianne and Sansa, looking far too satisfied for a woman who'd supposedly spent the previous night in ‘prayer’. Her red silk clung to every curve, and there was something different about her tonight, a glow that had nothing to do with candlelight and everything to do with our activities.

The aftermath of pleasure suits her well.

"Queen Daenerys," Margaery began, her voice honey-sweet as she cut delicately into her roasted duck, "it’s a pity I was too busy in the Rock to have a proper conversation with you. Your experiences in Meereen must have been formidable. To reshape cities so far from these shores… what a legendary woman you are, indeed. History will remember," she said. "King's Landing, of course, presents its own ancient complexities."

Daenerys met Margaery's gaze directly, her violet eyes holding a calm fire that made the air itself seem to shimmer. When she spoke, her voice resonated in the very stones.

"Chains are chains, Lady Margaery, be it forged in Astapor or gilded in the Red Keep." She lifted her goblet with deliberate grace, the movement causing her gown to shift enticingly across her transformed body. "A ruler's will must be strong enough to break them, or to bind them to her purpose."

My sister has learned the art of veiled threats. Excellent.

Arianne leaned forward, her silver eyes dancing with mischief as the movement caused her already scandalous neckline to reveal even more bronzed flesh. "Your Drogon is a magnificent sight, Queen Daenerys. Does he find the skies of Westeros to his liking?" She paused, swirling her wine with deliberate sensuality. "Or does your heart, and his, still yearn for the heat of Essos?"

“Don’t poke her, Princess. Of course, she misses her birthhome more,” I said, making Arianne grin and Dany smile.

“It’s alright brother, I like her,” a slight smile played on Daenerys's lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than before. "Dragons go where their riders command, Princess Arianne." She set down her goblet with a soft clink that somehow carried the weight of authority. "And my heart belongs to House Targaryen, and the restoration of its full glory. I will have to return to Meereen, yes, but not because I crave it—” that was a lie, I could tell, “—but because my brother needs me there to rule that foreign land. Ultimately, Essos was a proving ground; Westeros is our birthright."

The dragon has found her voice.

The conversation flowed like wine, each woman testing the others with words wrapped in silk and steel. I watched Kinvara from the corner of my eye—she remained largely silent, savoring her food with an expression of common delight as if she couldn’t hear anything said at the table. I could see the satisfied curve of her lips, the way she moved with fluid grace that spoke of muscles thoroughly relaxed.

She's practically purring.

Daenerys turned her attention to Sansa, her approach shifting to something gentler yet no less commanding. "Lady Sansa, your brother's reports from the North speak of more than just wildlings. The true cold, the ancient fear..." Her voice carried genuine understanding. "It is a heavy burden for your people to bear. I cannot imagine your worry, especially since one of your brothers is in the Night’s Watch, I hear."

Sansa straightened slightly, perhaps surprised by the directness. "It is scary, Your Grace. The Wall has stood for millennia, but the tales grow darker with each passing season. The dragonglass His Grace sends is a comfort, but..."

"I get it. Comfort is a fleeting warmth against an endless winter," Daenerys replied, her transformed features softening with something approaching sympathy. "True strength will be needed. Your people are strong, Lady Sansa. They will need to be. I'm sure your family will be fine, too.”

She understands the game better than I gave her credit for.

“That, I don't fear,” Sansa smiled. “Other than Jon, who's facing the threat head on, I don't fear the safety of the rest of my family. If things truly get rowdy enough, I know that…” her eyes shifted to me, a soft look in them. “I have someone to rely on if that happens. Someone who can defeat the White Walker with his dragon flames.”

How do I tell her that the top White Walkersare immune to dragon flames? I smiled at her.

As servants refilled our goblets with vintage from the Arbor, I made a casual observation about maintaining order through decisive action. Daenerys tilted her head thoughtfully, the gesture causing her horns to catch the candlelight.

"You asked about my tale in Meereen, Lady Margaery,” she suddenly said. “I think I have an answer now. In Meereen, I learned that caring for the people can enforce adoration, but true loyalty must be earned," she said, her voice carrying the weight of hard-won experience. "Be it through love or fear.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. I was foolish, naive even. I thought love was enough. Unfortunately, love didn't work, because humans are truly foolish and easily swayed by manipulation. My brother helped me earn obedience through fear. Now the city loves its queen for not being as ruthless as her brother, and yet is obedient and loyal as not to see her rage the same way. A city that loves its queen is a fortress stronger than any stone wall."

I watched this exchange with growing interest, perhaps even pride. Even with my slight intervention at the end, it was undeniable that my sister had traveled her own path to power, and it showed in every word.

Different methods, same destination.

“You are truly wise, Your Grace,” Margeary said with a practiced smile.

As the evening progressed, Kinvara rose gracefully, her movement causing her red silk to flow like liquid fire across her curves. "Your Majesties, ladies, the hour grows late, and the Lord of Light's temple awaits its High Priestess." She gave me a significant look, her dark eyes holding promises of future encounters. "The blessings of this day will surely illuminate its foundations. I trust the personal attention the realm required today was... satisfactory, Your Grace?"

I allowed a small smirk to play across my lips. "Indeed, Kinvara. Your devotion is deeply appreciated."

The other women watched her depart, and I could practically feel their thoughts churning. Margaery's mask remained perfect, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her goblet. Arianne's smile was cheeky, while Sansa studied her wine with sudden intensity.

With Kinvara gone, the atmosphere shifted subtly. 

Arianne attempted one last conversational gambit about the differences between Dornish and Targaryen approaches to power, but Daenerys had the final word. Ari just shrugged.

She rose from her chair with fluid grace, her transformed presence holding the room's attention. Her gaze swept over Margaery, Arianne, and Sansa in turn, violet eyes burning with quiet authority.

"This was a pleasant feast, my ladies. I'm happy that my brother has found suitable companies. From spending time with you, I now understand that power wears many faces," she said, her voice ethereal. "A rose's thorns, a sun's fire, a wolf's endurance... and a dragon's wings." 

All the girls watched her pause as she let her words settle. She smiled at them. "I do hope you'll remain loyal to the crown. If you do, this city, this realm, will learn to recognize your power all anew. For who knows how long? Please never make any serious mistakes. Because while my brother forgave me, he won't be that kind-hearted towards strange bloods.”

The statement was like a declaration of war wrapped in silk.

The dragon queen has truly awakened.

“You're scaring them, sister.” Although I said that, I looked on with a complex mixture of approval and recognition. 

My sister was no longer the frightened girl who'd fled across the Narrow Sea. She had become something magnificent and dangerous—a force that would reshape this realm whether it was ready or not.

The game had new players, and the board would never be the same.

Margaery, once again, looked a bit too unsure about her coveted position of Queen.

This is getting fun. By fun, I meant it was certainly amusing. However, I didn't care about the politics going between these girls.

No, rather, I had more urgent matters to attend to now that showing Dany her home was dealt with.

While waiting for Yara to come to King's Landing, it was finally time I addressed the issue with the Vale. 

And Littlefinger.

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