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The young dragon still thought he was the worst predator stalking these halls.
He had appeared with his steel men, armored in black and gold and green. Shiny and dark, like a raven trying to show off. Alys found him fascinating nearly instantly.
He perused Harrenhal as if he were a dragon himself, oblivious to the eyes tracking him around every corner, the gaze watching his throat as he ate, keeping guard from the shadows as he slept.
He knew of Alys, of course. Despite being fed tales of bastard nature along with his milk and bread, he had come to recognize her wisdom and trust her counsel.
Aemond had followed it today when she came to him about the group of Valemen she saw in her flames. They now lay in a pile of ashes some miles south, and the prince himself lounged in the tub before her.
Alys ground and crushed the herbs before her, and dragged her tongue over her lips. Always so hungry . The prince often let her feed upon the prisoners he took in the cells, but it still was not enough. Rancid, old prisoner blood was not fit for her. Kingsblood , however.
“My prince?” she tried, sitting on the lip of the tub. He hummed but didn’t look at her, up to his nose in the water, eye closed in bliss. His silver hair bloomed like steel rivers in the water, curling and twisting. “I hunger.” She went for simplicity. The prince did not mince his words and had little patience for those who did. A ground they could agree on.
“Was that Frey scoundrel not enough?” He murmured. She might’ve thought him asleep in the water otherwise.
“No. Well, enough to feed, but not to savor.” She slipped to the floor, bringing an arm around to trail her fingertips over his lean shoulder. He may style himself a dragon, but he still shuddered under her touch, and already she could see a blush blossoming upon his cheeks. “Blood of the dragon, however…”
“You wish to drink from me , Rivers?” His eye opened then, a sliver of indigo peering at her like a bunny peering out from its den. She smiled, hiding her fangs behind plush lips.
“I’ll be careful,” She swore. Brushing a strand of wet hair from his brow earned her a soft hum. He was considering it, already a better reception than she thought. “Besides, you’ve seen what I can do while fed. Imagine what I could do when fed on a man such as you. ”
There was a long, terrible stretch of silence. A lesser woman might have left after the first few heartbeats between them, but Alys was instead the wolf crouched, waiting for the lamb to separate from the herd. “Fine.” The prince finally acquiesced. “But I must be well for fighting on the morrow.”
As cold as his tone was, Alys could smell the flush beneath his skin as she moved behind him. He sat higher in the tub, refusing to look at her, even as she heard his heart begin to thunder in his chest. Such a sweet boy still, she pondered, as tough as he tried to look. The sweetest of lambs, laying itself on the altar for her.
He jolted when she brushed the hair from the side of his neck, careful to keep her on his seeing side. “Would you not feed from my wrist?” He asked, and for the first time, there was a proper vein of fear in his voice, filling her with hunger anew.
“You wouldn’t want to risk injury to your swordsmanship, would you, my prince?” Alys kept her voice saccharine, leaning forward to ghost her cold breath along his wet skin. His shiver was as delicious as his sudden swallow. “Too many tendons in the wrist. You run the risk of severing nerves in the fingers, the hand, and even the elbow itself. The neck and shoulders are easiest,” There was a freckle, on the top of his shoulder. She couldn’t resist pressing a kiss there. “Though, I could always feed from the vein in your thigh, if you prefer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” He hissed. The dragon leaned back into her, if only slightly. A willing meal. “Get it over with, witch.”
“So eager, my boy,” She mumbled against his skin. A few teasing licks to his shoulder, tracing up, up, up, right to the crease of his neck. His pulse pounded beneath her teeth like a war drum, the near-panting of his breath stirring the water. For all his bravado, he had curled his legs up close, which was oddly endearing to Alys. There was nothing she hadn’t seen, especially of men, but the shyness that lurked beneath his skin was evident.
A few drags of her tongue to his heated skin, just to tease, before she plunged her teeth into the meat of his neck. The blood of the dragon was hot, near unbearable on her tongue, yet so utterly delicious . The finest of heated wines, she thought, bringing her hand around to grasp the other side of Aemond’s neck, bracing him as he gasped. A brief tear with her teeth, enough to widen the wounds, but not enough to cause him serious injury.
Pulling away after the initial bite, she admired her work. A ring of weeping punctures, stark red against creamy skin, the throat beneath jumping and flexing as the prince groaned and whined. Beads of rubies welled, swelled, then dropped, only to be caught by Alys’ wandering tongue. His blood filled her with fire from her head to her toes, as if a furnace had been lit within her. Did he feel this fire? Was it constantly licking, devouring beneath his bones?
The prince gave a proper moan when Alys sucked on the bite, and she watched as the muscles from his chest to his calves flexed and jumped. Fingers curled and clenched at the lip of the tub, and long whines erupted from his chest as she continued to draw from his young blood. “Alys…” He whispered, hoarse and breathless, one hand scrabbling to hold onto her wrist.
She would like to say it was just his lifeblood that stirred her, but that wasn’t the truth. Alys’ was no stranger to the pleasures of men, nor women, but few of them gave her passion, not like this. She would be lying if the sight and sounds of the young man beneath her teeth didn’t breathe life into her core, stirring that molten heat there. Aemond was a pretty thing, almost a blushing maid in his inexperience, and she couldn’t resist giving him a few bloody kisses along the column of his throat as he weakly twisted and whined.
His already pale skin had lost some pallor, but nothing frightening. Alys was familiar with how much she could draw without fear of death or serious injury, how to dance that line of sleep and ecstasy. Judging from the sight between his clenching thighs, she had found that line for the prince. “This was a gift, sweetling,” Alys sang, nosing up to his jaw. His eye, half-lidded and glassy, turned to her. “I assure you, It will not go unpaid..”
A few drops of his precious kingsblood had dripped into the water, blooming in the bath like little flowers. Like the ones little Larys loved so much, those that bloomed in the godswood in winter. They vanished down the drain soon enough, as Alys hauled the prince from his watery slumber to be dried and sent stumbling off to his bed, with a final kiss pressed to his brow.
That pretty face would get her in trouble, Alys knew. There was a bond now, for better or worse; his blood beneath her veins, her teeth scarring his neck.
It would be worth it, she thought as she gathered her things. It would be worth it, she would think a week later, feeding a half-drowned Aemond the blood from her own veins.
It’s worth it, she would think, chasing down rivermen to drink and drain, with a forever young dragon prince at her side.