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King Aegon II never existed. His reign has been canceled from every tome, every ledger, and substituted it with his attempted usurpation.
King Aegon II doesn’t exist, but Prince Aegon the Usurper does.
The same people who declared his superiority over his half-sister now cry out for his head, declaring him a monster, a disgrace to the name Targaryen.
Those insults do not sting, for he has heard them his entire life. His mother, his grandsire, brother, … none has cared to spare him from their venom.
He didn’t even want the throne. He simply thought that maybe his mother would love him with a crown on his head. After all, the first kiss he has ever received from her was given mere seconds before his coronation. The beginning of his reign.
Or rather, what should have been his reign.
Instead, a Kingsguard—now Queensguard—had escaped and alerted his half-sister, who had come to claim her due. And so, the three-day-long reign of King—Prince Aegon the Usurper ended in Fire and Blood.
So, so much blood.
Red turned their green clothes black, as his grandsire’s head was ripped from his body by Dark Sister’s hungry blade, and his mother was ripped apart by Moondancer’s small yet vicious maws. Lucerys finished his handiwork, not killing his uncle—because cursed be the kinslayer—but destroying him in every way that matters. Both eyes gone, orbs left empty, and legs broken beyond repair. Grand Maester Gerardys declared him forever crippled and unable to fly anymore. All ignored the prince’s wails after the verdict.
Three moons have passed since the ascension of the rightful Queen, and Aegon has not left his chambers once. ‘Tis only by his half-sister’s mercy that he lives, but he finds himself not wishing to do so any longer.
If Aegon was unloved and uncared for before, now he is positively abandoned.
Rhaenyra has visited only once. He still remembers the conversation, the Conqueror’s crown gleaming on her head as it never did on his.
“Brother, you are to be confined to these chambers until I order otherwise. Helaena is on her way to the Eyrie, Aemond has been sent to live the rest of his days at High Tide. Your children shall remain here, but they’ll be raised alongside my youngest two as my wards.” Her words were clipped and harsh, her violet eyes cold and unfeeling. They ran over his body, and he felt himself blush under her scrutinizing gaze.
She could no doubt see the pathetic self that he was, and still is.
Drunk on wine—the only thing he had left to indulge with—he didn’t answer her, his head simply lolling to one side.
She is beautiful, he remembers thinking then.
“The twins’ wedding” she continued, “is going to be celebrated as soon as they both reach the age of maturity. Until then, Jaehaerys will squire for Jacaerys, while Jaehaera will serve as Rhaena’s lady. Maelor, once old enough, will squire for Lucerys and marry whoever I decide for him.”
When she realized her words had no effect on her eldest brother, she stepped closer, gripping his face in her hand. She twisted his face so that he was forced to stare at her. Aegon could barely focus on her, what with the amount of wine running in his veins.
He has always joked about it. His father had rot in his veins, he had wine, and his half-sister had sin—if his mother was to be believed. I wouldn’t mind sinning, his traitorous mind whispered then.
“Are you listening to me?” she snarled, and his only reaction was a loony smile. She smells so good, he thought.
With a scoff, she threw his head away. “You are pathetic. I cannot believe the Greens thought you worthy of the throne.”
Regaining control of his tongue, he snorted. “I can scarcely believe it, too, sister” he drawled, the insults familiar, downing another cup of wine.
“Mother” he continued, “always did her best to impress my inadequacy on me. Believe me, I have not forgotten.” Then, he remembered something. “What about Ser Criston?”
“A fulfilling meal for my Syrax.”
A hum. “Was he tasty, sister?”
“She certainly looked satisfied.”
“Good.”
He didn’t see nor hear her leave.
She doesn’t visit him anymore, and he is all alone. He has tried to ask for some whores to be brought to him, but the Goldcloaks stationed outside his gilded prison have simply pushed him back in with nothing more than a glare.
He is tired of being ignored. All his siblings have been dealt with—Helaena, Aemond, even Daeron was left at the Citadel, dragon ripped away from him thanks to the weak bond between them, to become a maester. Yet, he is always left behind. Always forgotten.
He is tired of that.
“My Queen.” Rhaenyra turns to look at Daemon, bowed on one knee beside her chair. She puts down the accounts given to her by Lord Beesbury and looks at her husband.
“What is it?”
“I believe your brother is disturbing the peace once again.”
“What has he done, now? Demanded whores again? Puked his guts up after consuming unhealthy amounts of wine again?” she scoffs.
“Not exactly” he seems to want to prolong the suspense, but one glare from his beloved wife prompts him to speak. “He has begun trashing furniture, yelling out your name.”
She would say she is surprised, but she would be lying. That’s what she wanted, after all. Her pathetic excuse for a brother, mad and weak enough to be molded into something of her liking.
Daemon knows the look on his wife’s face. The same madness that darkens her eyes every time she takes him, or when they reminisce about how wonderfully Alicent and Criston screamed as they were devoured. A matching smirk makes its way on his face. “Is it time, then?”
A hum. “Yes, I believe so. Tell your hounds to bring him here. I shall not spend any time in those rooms of his. Who knows what I can find.”
“At your behest, my love.”
When Aegon is dragged into her chambers, he looks like shit. The men drop him like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the room, bowing to their queen.
She doesn’t miss how their eyes roam over her body.
She has to resist the urge to preen. The neckline of her gown, one she usually wear in the privacy of her quarters, is deep enough that Daemon has been worried more than once about her tits escaping—“I would be chivalrous, naturally” he oft says, “And gently put them back in their silky prison for you, wife”—and her bust has yet to realize that her womb is now empty, instead continuing to increase in size and produce milk for a child that will not come.
Yet now she finds herself grateful for the milk filling her tits to almost painful levels.
Now she does have a manchild to discipline, to break and reform as she desires.
Daemon’s men’s loyalty is undisputed and everlasting, so she takes the liberty of teasing them a bit. Her preference for Goldcloaks—Harwin, Daemon, a few men invited into their marital bed in Dragonstone—is well known, so they have no qualms about staring down her gown when she leans forward in her seat.
“Thank you, my dear sers” she purrs, “Your loyal service is appreciated. You may go.”
When they are alone—Daemon having gone to ensure all the children are away from her rooms—she finally takes the time to look more closely at her brother.
He has no tunic nor doublet, wearing only a sweaty linen undershirt and his breeches. A few wine stains—for that’s what she hopes they are—darken the black material of his trews, and there are holes in his socks. His eyes are unfocused as they take in his new surroundings.
She clicks her tongue. A Prince of the Realm, reduced to such pitiful levels. It’s true, it suits her interests, but it doesn’t mean it’s not utterly pathetic. She sticks her head out and calls a maid passing through the corridors. She relays her orders and soon a bathtub is ready to house the Usurper Prince.
“What are you doing?” he asks her as she grabs him and drags him to the lukewarm water. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of a warm bath.
“Making you look worthy of being in my presence.”
“What the—”
She shoves him in the water, clothes and all, ignoring how some of the liquid spills on the floors and on her red dress. “You will be quiet and do what I tell you or you’ll spend the rest of your days in the Black Cells, understood?” she orders sternly.
His eyes, less foggy than before, roam over her face—admiring her features or searching for a hint of deceit, she knows not—before he nods mutely.
She waits until he removes his drenched garments, tossing them outside the tub, before proceeding to scrub him clean. She ignores his discomfort as she cleans his intimate areas, and in a matter of minutes he is cleaner than he’s ever been in moons.
She hauls him out the tub with the same force she used to push him in, making him stand in the middle of the room naked and cold and humiliated. She doesn’t cover him with a towel, she doesn’t dry him off, nothing. She simply stands a few paces away and looks at him.
Aegon has never been ashamed of his body, but her gaze makes him feel inferior. He attempts to cover his cock with his hands, but she uses her foot to kick his hands away, barely missing his precious appendage itself.
The brusque action makes him regain control over his tongue. “What the fuck? What do you want?”
She is not impressed. “What do I want? It was you who destroyed your room calling out for me, brother, not the other way around.”
“Well, I didn’t mean—not—” he struggles to find the words to convey his desires.
She interrupts his pitiful whining. “Why did you call for me?”
“Wha-What?”
“Are you deaf? Why did you call for me?" she enunciates every word with great care, as if she was talking with a simpleton.
“I didn’t want to be ignored” he blurts out. Only after he’s said the words, he realizes what he’s just admitted.
Sure, his sister is incredibly beautiful—everyone knows that—and Aegon is not the best when it comes to curbing his libido, but having fantasies about her is different than essentially admitting it to the woman. The woman, by the way, who is directly responsible for the destruction of his entire family.
Her grin is poisonous, yet he finds himself warming up nonetheless. He cannot recall the last time someone smiled at him.
“Oh, my darling brother” she opens her arms.
When he doesn’t move, her smile turns sharp as Valyrian steel. “Come here” she snarls, and his body obeys her without his approval.
Naked and damp, he slots his body against hers. He has inherited his mother’s short stature, his head barely reaching Rhaenyra’s chin, and he rests it on her collarbone. He can feel her hum in his brain, her scent enveloping him as her arms do the same.
Her hands are calloused, and he shivers as they rub all over his back, low enough to skim his arsecheeks but not enough to make him want to rip himself away from her. Because he would, he would not stand for such disrespect. He would definitely force himself away.
Naked as the day he was born, the prince rests his whole weight on his eldest sister. She holds him up, his weight nothing compared to the heavy burden of seven kingdoms, relishing in his slow but inevitable submission.
“I am here, brother. You have no need to destroy things to have my attention” she kisses his damp hair, smirking when she feels him shiver, “Why would you do such a thing?” She knows exactly why, but she has to have him say it.
He burrows further into her neck. He inhales her scent, hesitates to speak his mind, but another kiss makes his body and tongue melt. “That’s the only time Mother paid any attention to me.”
She coos. “Oh, but my darling. I am not your mother. I will come whenever you have need of me, if I am free of any other task.” She lies, for it will be him coming to her whenever she wants, but it’s too soon to reveal such.
She grabs his face in her hands. He looks so beautiful, lilac eyes red and filled with tears. Pathetic and completely at her mercy. She presses him more firmly to her body, wrapping her arms around him. She feels his own hands grapple with the material on her back, and she smiles. She sneakily wiggles around until, thanks to the already precarious neckline and his grip, the red silk falls from one of her shoulders. Under the guise of fixing their position, she pushes him away—just enough to allow the material to completely uncover her bust.
The dress is too risqué to allow any type of shift or upper undergarment, so his eyes have an unobstructed view of her pink nipple and heavy tit.
Aegon can practically feel his entire brain screech to a halt. His entire self is focused on the sight in front of him.
Milky flesh, full and ripe, with a myriad of thin silverly scars circling the most beautiful nipples he has ever had the pleasure of beholding.
In his mind there is nothing but flashes of colors—white, pink, the indigo of her eyes, so different from his pale lilac—and he doesn’t even realize he has opened his mouth until his sister shoves two of her fingers inside.
She lays them on his tongue, far enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to trigger his gag reflex.
She smiles at him. He looks so pretty, teary eyed and with her fingers in his mouth. He looks like the whore he is.
“My dear brother” she purrs, and kisses his nose, “You seem eager to acquaint yourself with me.”
His eyes widen. He attempts to shake his head—he wants to justify himself, because it was just an accident I swear I didn’t mean to look at your full, delicious tit—but her grip tightens and he nearly gags.
“You just want to be loved, don’t you” she coos, Aegon too far gone to recognize the predator lurking behind the woman’s caring outside. “You never were. Always abused, always ignored” she twists the knife in the wound in his soul that has forever been dripping blood. Since the first time his mother struck him, since he realized his only purpose in life was to be something he didn’t want to be, something he could never be.
Rhaenyra sees tears welling in his eyes and smirks, going in for the kill. “Forever a disappointment, never enough. Father ignored you, your mother beat you and who knows what your grandsire used to do. It’s a wonder dear Helaena let you dip your pretty cock in her cunt.” She clicks her tongue in faux displeasure.
She needs to contain the full-body shiver that runs through her when she sees the first of his tears falling. This is not about her, not this time.
His sobs wreak his body, and when he tries to move she tightens her hold. She thinks he might want to escape her clutches, but instead the pathetic boy simply burrows closer. He closes his lips around her fingers, sucking on them like a babe.
Her cunt gushes, soaking her underthings, as she feels his tongue swirling around her digits, the suction making his cheeks hollow. He looks so lost, so desperate for any type of contact.
It’s no surprise, in truth. He has been mistreated and ignored and abused for so long that he would trade his dignity for even the smallest bit of affection. And that’s exactly what Rhaenyra is counting on. She’s going to mold him into the perfect pet.
“I am going to treat you so well, dear brother” she purrs, tightening her hold on him as she walks backwards. She stops when she feels the edge of her desk.
He panics when she removes her fingers from his mouth and makes to push him away, gripping her bare shoulders so hard his nails leave red marks on her flesh.
She hisses in displeasure. She rips his hands away, before hooking her arms under his arse and briskly lifting him up on the wooden surface of her desk. She deposits him right over the reports, uncaring of the damage it could do on the parchment.
He looks surprised, looks into her eyes with something Rhaenyra cannot place. Is it hope? Fear? Lust?
She doesn’t know and doesn’t care. By the time she’ll be done with him, he’ll look at her with all the adoration she deserves. All the pain his supporters have caused her will be returned by him through pleasure tenfold.
Aegon is feeling so many emotions. His skin feels hot, yet the light breeze coming from the open window makes him shiver, or is it the way his sister is looking at him?
The crown on her head glints as she cocks her head. “What is on your mind, pet?”
Oh, how his soul rejoices at hearing her call him that. Her pet. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of her lilting voice. It’s so melodious. So unlike anything he’s ever heard.
A hand grips his throat. His eyes snap open and focus on his sister. Her features are sharp, and the mocking smirk on her face makes him want to curl on himself and hide.
“I understand that thinking is not your strongest suit” she derides him, “But you’d do better to respect your Queen. Now answer.”
Rhaenyra looks more dignified with her tits out that he’s ever looked with a crown on his head.
He struggles to remember her question. Her hand has yet to relinquish its hold on his neck and he’s starting to become lightheaded. It takes him a moment to be able to articulate a response. “I was thinking” he wets his lips, “about… about you.”
He settles on the simplest truth he can bear to say. It seems to be the correct choice, because his sister preens and smiles at him with unbelievable sweetness, giving him back the ability to fill his lungs with air that smells like her.
“How glad I am that I’m the only thing in your mind” she caresses his hair, “Now tell me, my dear. What do you want from me?”
She pulls his head back by his hair. The sting on his scalp is a familiar feeling—his mother has oft dragged him around by his hair, berating him as if he was an unruly dog—but this time it doesn’t incite fear. On the contrary, the only thing he can feel is glee.
Despite the uncomfortable posture she’s put him in, Rhaenyra can clearly see he’s not about to lament the treatment. Not if his rapidly hardening cock is any indication. She teases him. “Would you look at that. It seems this pet of mine” she purrs, “Likes the rough treatment.”
She tugs on his locks more firmly. She would love for him to grow his hair out; it would be much easier to grip. “Did you react like this when your mother manhandled you? Perhaps you don’t need me as much as you think.”
“No” he gasps, gripping her waist.
His hands are pawing the flesh there, the soft fat that always increases after every pregnancy. Daemon adores to gently bite it, to lavish it with his tongue. “Each time you become great with child you become more” he always tells her, “I cannot wait to fill you up again, see your tits swell and hips widen. How beautiful you are.”
It seems Aegon shares a similar fascination with her body.
“No” he says again, desperate. “I need you, sister.”
She hums in pleasure. He’s right where she wants him.
She moves her hand from the back of his head to his chest. She twists one of his nipples, and his moan is divine. “I shan’t have an unruly pet, brother” she licks his neck, relishing in the trembles that rock his body.
“You will obey me” she snarls, gripping his cock, now hard and leaking, “You will forget anything else but me. My actions, my desires, my commands… they will be the only thing in your mind, the only thing that will matter.”
Aegon is in heaven. His sister’s warm hand twists around his cock and he needs to call upon all his restraint to avoid cumming on the spot. “Yes” he gasps a moan, “Yes. Sister… yes.”
Coherent thought has left him. He cannot string a single sentence together, but thankfully he doesn’t need to. His sister is there to do everything for him.
“My sweet little brother” she smiles, kissing his temple. She’ll be good to him, reward his submission.
She ignores his whine when she releases his cock. She picks him up like a child—dragonriding and raising five children, plus Daemon’s girls, has made her stronger than most—and he squeaks in surprise. She brings him to her bed, throwing him on the mattress, admiring his naked body.
He is a truly pretty specimen. He takes after his mother, both in height and build. Thin and slender, the boy is wholly shadowed by her much fleshier body. He seems to realize that as well, for he looks her up and down and gulps.
She laughs, “Are you nervous?”
“You are so beautiful.”
She is surprised by his earnest admission. She is fully aware of her appeal, even more with her tits out, but she would have expected him to be more timid, more reserved. Instead, he sits up, gripping her hips and tugging her closer. She goes willingly, half amused and half curious as to what he could possibly want to do.
She won’t let him lead, naturally, but she supposes she can grant him a few moments to do as he pleases.
She lets him shove her dress off her hips, the material pooling on the floor. He does the same to her smallclothes, soaked in her essence. His eyes fix on her belly, where a thousand of stretch marks litter her skin. He traces them with his fingers, while another hand does the same to the ones on her breasts.
She has noticed his fixation with them, and she cannot resist but ask. “You like them?”
“They make you even more beautiful” he nods, kissing her belly.
The gesture is unexpected as it is sweet. However, Rhaenyra doesn’t want him sweet. She wants him choking on her, she wants him delirious with need, with adoration.
His time is up. Now it’s her turn.
Without warning, she pushes him to lay flat on the mattress and kneels on the bed, one leg on each side of his hips. She rests her whole weight on him, settling right under his groin, blocking any movement of his lower body. He groans when his cock nudges her wet lips, but before he can try to shove in, she pushes it away, letting it rest on her belly. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the lilac as she leans forward. She rests her hands above his head. Her full tits dangle in his face, and his eyes follow the movement with ravenous intent.
She wants to suffocate him in her flesh, make him drown with her milk.
“Aegon” she purrs, and he looks at her eyes with some difficulty. Half his face is shadowed by her bosom, and she can already see drool slipping out his parted lips. “Are you hungry?”
“Fuck” he moans, closing his eyes in bliss.
The weight of her body grounds him, even if all the feelings coursing through his bones make him want to explode. The rolls of fat on her belly caress his cock delightfully, and the smell of her skin makes him lightheaded. Her breasts dangle wonderfully close to his face, nipples dark and begging to be lathered with spit.
She bends closer, and Aegon is gone.
His mouth is hungry as it bites at the flesh surrounding his face. He cannot see, cannot breathe, but the feeling of Rhaenyra’s tits on his face is worth the lack of air. She lets her chest rest down over his face with more insistence, and his answering groan makes her cunt clench. His tongue lathers her bosom with sticky saliva before he catches one of her nipples into his mouth.
At the first mouthful of milk, Aegon feels in heaven. He moans, and nearly chokes on the liquid. He coughs, spilling the delicious substance all over his face and her tits.
Rhaenyra tsks, “You are clumsier than any of my sons. None of them ever made this much of a mess.”
Instead of answering, Aegon latches on again, opening his mouth as wide as it can go, trying to get as much flesh in his mouth as possible. He sucks, immediately being rewarded with another mouthful of milk. He feels it trickle down his throat, and he cannot stop his hips from bucking up. His sister, however, doesn’t budge.
“My sweet brother” she coos, twisting his nipple before trailing one hand down and gripping his cock. “You want to cum?”
He nods, still suckling the divine nectar of her body.
Oh, how he wishes to have been born of her loins. He could have tasted this from his first moments of his life, he could have been submerged by her love instead of the venom of his mother.
She hums, “Then let me take care of you.”
She gently rolls them over, so that now she’s under him. He detaches himself from her tit, albeit with some difficulty, and admires the wonderful view that is his sister’s body under his. She squeezes his hips—she might not be on top anymore, but she’s still the one in control—and coaches him into grinding his cock on her belly.
At the first hint of friction, Aegon moans like a well-trained whore. He throws his head back, humping her with wild abandon. His face and chest are deliciously flushed, and Rhaenyra cannot resist the temptation of leaving some marks on his perfect skin.
Her nails burn as they rake over his flesh, red lines decorating him. He’ll wear them with pride. He’ll let her do whatever she wants to him, be anything she will make him.
“Come here, darling” she beckons him back, grabbing his face and shoving him towards her proffered tit. He latches on with startling speed and wastes no time in getting his fill. He doesn’t stop humping her belly, lost in the sensations she’s gifting him.
He wishes to crawl into her skin, mold himself to her figure so he’d never have to leave the safety and warmth of her body.
“My sweet Aegon” she moans, enraptured by the sensation of him feeding from her. “How good you are for me.”
He whines, grinding down and wetting her belly with his precum. He pops the nipple out of his mouth, the flesh reddened and sopping with milk and spit. “Sister… sister, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m coming” he moans.
She grins. She aids him in his movements with her hands gripping his arsecheeks, leaving nail indents on the soft flesh. “Come for me.”
Another firm thrust of his hips, and her darling pet spills all over her belly. He mewls as his cock spurts small jets of white liquid, a few half-hearted movements ripping every drop out from him.
Weak and boneless, he falls right on top of his mess, sweat and cum mixing on their skin. He is panting, pawing at her sides and breasts. His eyes are unfocused, and Aegon does the only thing that comes natural in the moment. Lazily, he latches once again on her nipple, drawing out what little of her milk remains.
His little puffs of air in between pulls tickle her skin, “You didn’t cum.”
She laughs, “This time it was about you, my sweet boy. Next time, I’ll have you service me like the good little pet you are.”
He groans, hiding his face in between her breasts.
“Don’t hide, brother. Every inch of you is mine, I shall not have you shy away from me.”
Rhaenyra can see that he’s trying to gain courage to say something, so she lets him have all the time he needs, rubbing his back with soothing motions. “Can I” he begins, “Can I stay with you?”
She laughs. He’s so adorable.
“No.”
And oh, isn’t he simply delicious with tears streaming down his pretty face? She licks one, and the taste is divine.
“No, brother. You may not. Only my husband can sleep in my bed” she kisses away his crestfallen expression. “You, brother, are not my husband. You are my pet. And as such you’ll come when I call for you, and only then. Understand? Unless, of course” she mocks, “You’d rather end this and be ignored like the traitorous prisoner you are.”
She feels his arms grip her more firmly, more tears falling down his face. “No! No, I’ll be good. I’ll be your pet, please don’t ignore me. Don’t leave me.”
She shoves her lips on his before his thoughts can spiral into dangerous territory. It’s not his job to think, not unless she asks him to. “Very well, sweetling. Now get dressed and go back to your chambers. I don’t want to hear anything about you throwing tantrums and breaking things.”
“Yes, sister.”
“Good boy.”
He preens.
As Aegon redresses and leaves her quarters, ignoring the looks of the guards and servants he passes, he caresses his full stomach and has to smile.
He’ll be whatever she makes of him. And he’ll be happy.