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It was stifling in the Dragonmont. Moist heat permeated from every direction, stealing what little breath remained in Alicent’s lungs. The scents of hot stone mingled with the smoky brimstone of dragon, only getting stronger as Rhaenyra led her into the mountain’s heart with firm hands on her waist, burning through Alicent’s unwashed dress.
Most of the dragons were away at war, Alicent knew, finishing off the last of Rhaenyra’s enemies; it was why the caverns beneath Dragonstone were empty. Yet here, the air was alive with their calls, echoing, turning her bones to jam and her courage to ash. (Once, she would have thought the hands on her waist were pillars of strength. They now belonged to her captor.)
The passage opened before her, revealing the mouth of a large cave. Her inner ears shook in time to rumbled growls.
Rhaenyra’s grip tightened. “Go on,” she said lowly. “They will not see you.”
Alicent swallowed and stepped forward. Once. Twice. Three times.
On the far side of the cave were two dragons: one was immense and bronze in colour, though faded, as if it had seen many rulers in its lifetime; the other was nearly the same size, and silver-blue. Both were covered in deadly spikes along their skulls, backs, and tails, and their mouths were pulled back in vicious snarls, revealing teeth longer than the entire length of Alicent’s arm and sharper than any sword. They were crouching and swaying from side to side, oversized, scaly cats about to pounce on each other.
Rhaenyra’s words puffed against her right ear. “You’ve never witnessed dragons mate.”
I was bedded by one, thought Alicent. “No,” she said.
“Like when they choose their riders, they choose their mate. Vermithor and Silverwing are old mates, by now; they know each other, and yet still they dance. Gauging the other, testing their willingness.”
The dragons began to circle each other, tails brushing against the walls, coarse sand and pebbles being crushed beneath their large feet. They lashed out with teeth, nipping at each other, dodging, uttering high sounds that Alicent did not think such beasts were capable of producing. She watched as the silver-blue dragon nipped the bronze’s neck; the hands at her waist kept her from jumping out of her skin.
“A test bite,” Rhaenyra clarified. “Vermithor do one in return.”
True to word, Vermithor bit back, and pulled away.
The two dragons roared at each other. The brimstone scent became heavier, almost choking. Alicent’s eyes watered from it, reminding her far too much of an Alpha’s.
“They’ll take to wing,” Rhaenyra continued. “Come, we’ll follow after them.”
With great flaps of wings, the dragons clambered through the entrance on their side of the cave, and were gone in an instant. Alicent walked as fast as her weakened legs would carry her, stumbling slightly over the stone, grateful to be out in the fresh air and the overcast day. She looked to the sky, finding the dragons easily; from this distance, they were as large as birds. It was, however, not such a great distance that she couldn’t see Vermithor mount Silverwing in midair.
She was pulled against Rhaenyra. Her mind protested, but the scent of her—Valyrian steel and woodsmoke—was entirely too powerful to resist, and her Omega wanted nothing more than to submit, in whatever way this Alpha, once her friend, nearly her lover, now her enemy, desired. Rhaenyra’s crimson robes were thick but even they could not hide the extent of her arousal; Alicent felt insistent hardness against the backs of her thighs. It took all her might to restrain her baser instincts.
“Why do you show me this?” asked Alicent.
“So you will know the power I have in my possession.”
“And it is proven by witnessing dragons fuck mid-flight?” She turned away from the spectacle, meeting Rhaenyra’s eyes, belly tightening at the darkness she found there. “Or is this your long-winded way of telling me you have at last chosen me?”
Rhaenyra’s throat bobbed in a deep swallow. Her nose flared with her increase in breathing. “You were mine,” she whispered. “Long before my father decided to make you his wife, long before the white hart appeared to me in the Kingswood and the gods chose me to unite this realm beneath my crown and banner. They bestowed that throne upon me, but they also gave me you.” One hand left Alicent’s waist, cupping her cheek, impossibly tender. “Do not say at last, because it always was you. And you pushed me away.”
“Did you ever think, Rhaenyra,” said Alicent at length, voice refusing to rise above a rasp, “that they gave me you?” She rested her own hand over the one that caressed her cheek. “You cloak yourself in the divine and as a vessel through which the gods act, and yet you will not set aside your ego, your pain, to realise that you were the one who turned away when it was I who offered the white flag, I who fought my council day and night to spare your life, I who insisted you would make a fine queen. Did you not think that, perhaps, I wished I could choose you?”
Glassy eyes darted over her face, wide and disbelieving; for several seconds there was no trace of the Dragon Queen, or the Chosen, only a glimpse of Rhaenyra as Alicent once knew her, her scent taking on a sweetness before quickly reverting to its darker undertones.
“Do you lie to me?” asked Rhaenyra softly, speaking through bared teeth.
Alicent nearly laughed. “What will your gods tell you, Your Grace?” she whispered. “Fuck me, or let me be crushed by your dragons who have chosen each other.”
Rhaenyra’s lips crashed into hers, hot and desperate and wanting, kissing as if she would never get the chance to again. Her scent surrounded Alicent, calling out to her Omega; Alicent clutched at Rhaenyra’s robes. Together they fell onto the Dragonmont’s soft, fertile grass, nipping at lips and chins and the corners of jaws as Alicent allowed Rhaenyra to settle between her parted thighs. She welcomed the tongue that claimed her mouth, arched into the hands which wandered roughly over her front before they finally settled on the clips holding her cloak together.
Above them, the dragons circled, still joined.
Alicent sat up, aiding Rhaenyra in taking off the cloak. “Undress,” she breathed into the next kisses. “Please, Rhaenyra—”
Rhaenyra groaned, shuddered, bit down on Alicent’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The sting was sweet, sending heat straight to her already aching cunt. “Gods damn you and how you bewitch me,” she growled, pulling away to obey.
They scrambled to undress, piling their combined clothes beneath their bodies. It was long ago that they’d seen the other naked, before either of them had presented; much was different now. Yet Rhaenyra still took her in with a gaze that was both hungry and reverent, not coiling in disgust at the evidence of violation that was plain in the softness of Alicent’s body. Rhaenyra’s, meanwhile, was no longer lean and small; she was a perfect mix of softness and muscle. A dragon-rider. Wielder of a sword she’d named Godsfyre. The cut of her body showed that she did both with regular frequency.
Alicent did not know what she expected when she dared a glance southward. Certainly not a cock that was rigid without aid, or one that was dotted at irregular intervals with scales—which ended just above the hard, engorged knot. It curved prettily upwards. The spearlike tip leaked strings of thick essence. Her cunt clenched at the sight of it. Her Omega took hold of Alicent’s limbs, pulling Rhaenyra down, spreading knees once again to welcome her, moaning as flesh met flesh.
“Alicent,” gasped Rhaenyra, her tone soft, filled with an achingly tender note, “if we do this, it is before the old gods.”
Alicent said, “As it should be.”
She had never felt pleasure with her husband. There was not much to be gained when it was Criston inside her, dutifully bucking and leaving her chambers afterward like a dog denied its praise and supper. Joined with Rhaenyra, however, when after a few experimental thrusts and changes of angles the jut of Rhaenyra’s mound applied pressure to her nerves, the pleasure was nearly overwhelming. She simply let instinct take over, drowning in the kisses and nibbles that peppered her throat and breasts, holding Rhaenyra as close as she dared. Soon, however, even that was not enough; with some effort, Alicent wrapped her legs around Rhaenyra’s hips, switching their positions.
“Oh gods, Alicent…”
She kissed Rhaenyra. “Trust me,” she murmured, and at Rhaenyra’s nod, began to roll her hips.
Their moans combined with the dragons’ song, growing in volume. Their rhythm was a desperate one; Alicent’s toes began to curl into their clothes. She felt Rhaenyra begin to tremble beneath her.
Would it have been like this, if we had flown across the Narrow Sea as she wished? thought Alicent, close now. Or would it have been sweeter, with no seeds of bitterness sown between us? No war? No gods?
A particularly hard thrust made her cry out.
“Alicent…” It was a whimper. “Alicent, please.”
She knew what Rhaenyra was asking. She let herself be wrapped in strong arms and taken astride Rhaenyra’s lap; the angle would allow for the knot.
“If you have chosen me,” Rhaenyra continued, “claim me.”
Alicent met shallow thrusts with her own, burying her face against Rhaenyra’s slick neck, where the Alpha scent was strongest. Her teeth burned. But her Omega would not claim until they were locked together, as the dragons were.
“Fill me,” she said, “and I will.”
Aided by arousal, and need, it was easy for Rhaenyra to slip fully inside; a sharp thrust, and Alicent bit down, reaching climax at Rhaenyra’s cry, nearly shouting when teeth marked her in kind and scalding seed spilled in ropes from a spasming cock. She clung to Rhaenyra, chasing the height, following its descent, until at long last they were both spent, collapsing back onto their pile of clothes.
Above them, Vermithor and Silverwing were spiralling downward like birds of prey, roaring as one.