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The tapestry was thick—dusty and heavy and hemmed with little gold moths that fluttered only in her mind. Helaena pressed her face to it, her cheek warming against the woven dragons curled like lovers in blood-red thread.
Behind the curtain, the room throbbed with low, breathy sounds.
Rhaenyra was not alone.
She could hear them.
The rhythm of it. The wet, flesh-meeting-flesh rhythm of it. A man. Strong. She knew the name, the voice. Harwin. Her sister’s knight. Her savior. She could almost smell them—salt, sweat, lavender oil warmed by skin. The bed creaked. Rhaenyra laughed, and it twisted inside Helaena like a thorned vine. That laugh wasn’t for her.
Not tonight.
Not yet.
Like a drone, buzzing low, waiting for the queen to split the hive.
Her thighs pressed together. Her breath caught. She should not be here. But she was. Because she wanted to taste Rhaenyra again—desperately. Sweet and sharp like honey gone dark. Like the aftertaste of venom. She wanted to press her tongue back into that heat and let it drown her.
“Did I do well?” she’d said last time.
And Rhaenyra had called her perfect.
That word rang in her head like bells under water.
A moan echoed.
Helaena bit down on her knuckle, peeking through the thin gap in the drape. Rhaenyra was on her back, legs wrapped around Harwin’s waist. Her hair was a silvery tangle, her full breasts rising with each gasp. His mouth was on her neck. His hand gripped her thighs. Her hips rolled with every thrust like waves on Blackwater Bay.
She felt it again—need.
A hunger that spidered out from her belly and wrapped every part of her.
She didn’t want him.
She wanted her.
She imagined crawling out. Naked, like a beetle under stone, slick and shining. She imagined taking Rhaenyra’s hand, kissing her fingers one by one, then pushing her knight aside.
She’s mine too, she thinks, And Rhaenyra—what would she do? Would she laugh? Would she moan my name instead?
But she didn’t move.
Not yet.
Helaena stayed beneath the heavy tapestry, breath shallow, watching the way Rhaenyra’s head tilted back, mouth parted, hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her knight was still inside her, fucking her deep and steady, his groans echoing off the chamber walls like distant thunder.
Helaena didn’t look at him.
She watched her.
The way her sister’s hands clutched the sheets.
The way her hips lifted to meet every thrust. The way her throat moved with every gasp. Harwin Strong was like Aegon in his own way—gruff, greedy, blunt. She knew the rhythm of a man drunk on flesh. Aegon made those same noises sometimes, low and hoarse, when he was inside her. When his head dipped to her breast, muttering how sweet she tasted, how he could live off her like honeycomb for the rest of his life.
“No one knows you like I do, sweet sister.” That’s what Aegon said.
She wondered—did Harwin know Rhaenyra like that?
Did he know how her cunt twitched just before she came? Did he whisper things into her skin like Aegon did—foolish, needy things, things that sounded like prayer and threat all at once? Does he taste her after?
Does she let him stay inside when he spills?
A shiver crawled down her spine.
She wondered if Aegon was awake now.
Had he noticed the cold spot where she once lay beside him? Did he roll over, reach for her, whisper her name in his sleep?
Would he be angry?
Would he know where she went?
He always knows…
The ache building—sharp and sticky and wrong. But nothing had ever felt more right. She watched Rhaenyra’s body arch, watched the way Harwin’s hand gripped her hip so tightly it would bruise. The sound of their bodies—wet, rhythmic, constant—echoed in. Helaena’s chest felt like a second heartbeat.
“You can come out now,” Rhaenyra said.
The voice was not startled.
Not angry.
It was amusing.
Helaena froze.
Rhaenyra turned her head slightly on the pillow. Her eyes were half-lidded, mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Come, little moth. I see your wings trembling.”
Harwin didn’t stop. He barely reacted.
But Rhaenyra’s hand reached out—casual, open. Her fingers beckoned. And Helaena—trembling, flushed, and soaked through—stepped out from behind the curtain like the smallest, boldest insect under the sun. His eyes were shut now, mouth open, sweat dripping from his brow to her collarbone.
He looked like he didn’t belong here.
Helaena’s gaze dropped lower. His hands were on Rhaenyra’s thighs—big, rough, greedy things. One gripped too tightly. The other slipped inward, fingers spreading her wider. She twitched around him, her breath catching in a sharp, almost fragile moan.
She’s about to come, Helaena thought. Like a silkmoth shedding its cocoon.
Like fruit bursting open in heat.
Rhaenyra’s head turned just enough to catch her in the corner of her gaze. Her mouth opened—not in surprise, but in delight.
“Watch, sweet sister,” she whispered.
Oh, Helaena did.
Rhaenyra broke apart with a choked gasp, thighs trembling. Her fingers clawed at the bedsheets, spine arching, face slack with pleasure. Harwin groaned—loud, guttural—and bent into her, spilling with his mouth pressed into the crook of her neck.
They stilled.
Helaena stood motionless, her hands clenched in the fabric of her gown, her breath loud in her own ears. The scent in the room—salt, musk, lavender—felt like smoke, like steam.
Nobody spoke.
The bed was quiet, just the sound of two people slowly remembering the weight of their bodies.Then Rhaenyra shifted. She shoved at Harwin’s shoulder—sharp, casual, unmistakable. He blinked, blinked again, and finally understood.
He slid out with a grunt. Rhaenyra gave a soft exhale at the loss. He stood, grabbing his clothes without a word. His boots scraped softly against stone as he passed Helaena by—never meeting her eyes. The chamber doors groaned open, then closed with a heavy echo.
Leaving them alone.
Exactly as Helaena had wanted.
The sheets were damp. The hearth spat softly. The tapestry no longer shielded her. And still—Rhaenyra didn’t speak. She only turned her head, bare, golden in sweat and spent desire. Her legs were still parted slightly. Her cunt still glistened with Harwin’s seed.
Helaena stood near the foot of the bed, trembling.
Not from fear.
From want.
“Come here,” Rhaenyra said at last.
Helaena did. Step by step. Her bare feet kissed the cold stone floor. She moved like she was caught in a silk thread, pulled toward light.
(Rhaenyra watched her with eyes half-lidded, like a lioness who had already eaten and wanted nothing more than to bask.)
“Are you jealous, little bug?” she asked.
“No.”
Rhaenyra’s brow arched faintly, a soft smile flickering across her lips.
“Are you wet, my sweet?”
Helaena thought about lying.
Instead, she blinked. “No.”
Rhaenyra sat up a little, arms braced behind her. Her hair was matted to her cheek. Her full breasts were bare and flushed. The dark between her legs gleamed in the candlelight.
“Then why did you come?”
Helaena swallowed. “I just wanted…” She trailed off.
Rhaenyra reached out.
Her fingers found Helaena’s hand, warm against her wrist, and her thumb brushed across the pulse there—steady, fluttering. She held it for only a moment. Then she let go, gently, and reached for the hem of Helaena’s night shift.
“Let me,” she said.
Helaena didn’t move. Just raised her arms as Rhaenyra pulled it up and over her head, slow and careful. The cotton whispered against her skin as it slid away.
She was bare.
Soft. Pale.
Rhaenyra’s gaze moved over her body without judgment, only warmth. She leaned back against the pillows, legs still parted.
“Come into the bed.”
Helaena climbed in.
The sheets were warm from sex, still damp with Rhaenyra’s pleasure and Harwin’s spend. The scent clung to her skin. Her knees sunk into the mattress, and she gasped—soft, startled—as she felt the heat and wetness between her own thighs. Rhaenyra reached for her again—this time not her wrist, but her hair. She tucked a pale-gold strand behind Helaena’s ear, fingers brushing the curve of her jaw.
Then she leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first. Barely a breath. Then it deepened. Rhaenyra's mouth opened to her, warm and slow, tongue slipping past her lips like honey melting over fruit. She tasted like peaches. Like sex. Like something Helaena had only dreamed of—something forbidden and ripe and hers.
Helaena moaned into her mouth, hips shifting. One of her hands reached for Rhaenyra’s waist, slid upward over the curve of her side to her full breast. She squeezed, and Rhaenyra gasped, arching into her touch.
Her skin is sun-warm. Her nipple, a berry on the branch.
Mine, mine, mine.
Then—fingers.
A hand slipped between her thighs, teasing through her curls, slick with her need. Helaena jolted at the contact, mouth breaking from the kiss. Rhaenyra pulled back, smiling now—lazy, knowing.
“You lied,” she whispered. “Come here.”
She leaned back into the pillows, hair wild around her face, thighs parted like open pages. Her cunt was still wet, flushed and swollen, a slick shine between her legs. Helaena crawled up over her, dazed, her body humming like something half-born. Her hands shook as she placed them on either side of Rhaenyra’s waist.
Rhaenyra tapped her own bottom lip, watching her with those knowing eyes.
“I want to taste you,” Rhaenyra purred. “You deserve… such a reward.”
That made Rhaenyra laugh—low and pleased.
Helaena blinked, confused.
She had come here to taste her sister. That had been the plan—simple, small, selfish. She had waited like a moth behind the curtain, trembling and slick with wanting, for that.
Not this. Not to be laid bare.
Not to be seen. Not to be devoured.
Her lips parted in protest, a sound—something pleading, something fragile—caught in her throat. But before it could escape, Rhaenyra raised a single finger to her mouth and pressed it there.
“Shhh.”
No words.
She shook her head softly, eyes gleaming like garnets.
Her other hand slid slowly down her own body, over the soft curve of her belly, her waist, until it reached Helaena’s hips. She gripped her there—possessive, encouraging.
“Come on,” Rhaenyra purred. “On my face… my sweet girl, let me make you feel good.”
Helaena shivered.
She couldn’t think. She could only obey.
Rhaenyra guided her gently, drawing her forward, upward, until Helaena found herself kneeling over Rhaenyra’s shoulders, straddling the pillow, her thighs trembling on either side of that flushed, golden face. She tried to close her legs, but Rhaenyra tutted and dug her fingers into her hips.
“No hiding,” she whispered. “I want to see all of you.”
Helaena leaned back instinctively, her hands searching blindly for something to hold. She found the headboard—rough wood beneath her fingers—and then the backs of Rhaenyra’s thighs.
Warm. Firm. Anchoring.
Her breath hitched.
Rhaenyra stared up at her, violet eyes glowing, mouth parted just beneath her cunt. The heat of her breath ghosted against her folds.
I’m trembling. I’m dripping.
I’m going to die.
And then—Rhaenyra’s tongue reached up and licked her. A slow, deliberate swipe from bottom to top, broad and bold. Helaena cried out, the sound raw and startled, head thrown back as a jolt of heat rocked through her like a wing snapping free from a cocoon.
Rhaenyra groaned into her, satisfied.
And then she licked her again.
It felt so good. Too good.
Rhaenyra’s tongue dragged along her folds again, slower this time, savoring her. The heat of her mouth made Helaena twitch, made her thighs ache from holding still.
Rhaenyra’s face pressed deeper.
Helaena gasped, her breath faltering.
She felt Rhaenyra’s nose nudge her sensitive clit at her center, bumping it gently, again and again, sending electric warmth through her belly. She groaned, low and needy, leaning back further—hips tilting, knees wide, as if her body already knew how to be opened.
Like a beetle splitting its wings. Like nectar pulled from a hive.
She gave Rhaenyra more room. More of herself. And Rhaenyra took it—mouth firm and wet, tongue circling her clit, lips sealing around it and sucking. Hard. Helaena nearly sobbed. She shook above her, hands gripping the soft flesh of her sister‘s thighs so tightly her knuckles burned. Her thighs trembled violently, the instinct to clamp them shut nearly unbearable.
But she held them open.
Let her. Let her eat me whole.
The wetness between her thighs was unbearable now—messy, sticky, dripping onto Rhaenyra’s chin, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. And still, she didn’t stop. But just when Helaena was rising—when the knot was tight and trembling in her core, when her release was a wingbeat away—Rhaenyra pulled back.
Her tongue left her clit in a gasp of air and heat.
Helaena whimpered, hips jerking forward. “No—please, I—”
She lowered her mouth to Helaena’s entrance, dragging her tongue in a slow, circling motion around it.
Gentle. Cruel.
A tease so deep it bordered on unbearable. Helaena’s hands clawed at the sheets. She looked down—eyes hazy—and saw Rhaenyra’s gaze locked on her, glowing, dark-lashed and wet with her slick.
“Please…ohh— sister!”
Rhaenyra smiled against her cunt.
And circled her again.
Rhaenyra gave one broad, firm swipe of her tongue—back and forth—then pulled away. Helaena whimpered, helpless. The loss of contact made her hips twitch. The air felt too cool on her soaked cunt, the emptiness unbearable. Rhaenyra sat back slightly on the pillows, her face flushed and wet with Helaena’s slick, chin glistening.
Her eyes narrowed with satisfaction—lazy, lovely.
“Does Aegon do this to you?” she asked.
Helaena gulped.
Her throat felt thick—saliva sliding down like molasses, heavy and slow. Her mouth opened, but the words tangled. She didn’t know how to say it right.
Yes, he does.
But not like this. He’s messy. Sloppy. Greedy in the way children are greedy—too fast, too loud. He eats me like he’s starving. But she eats me like she knows.
She nodded first.
“Y—yes,” she said. “He’s greedy. I… I come so many times.”
Rhaenyra smiled.
“Good girl.”
She dove back in.
Faster now—tongue lashing, lips suckling, mouth sealing around her clit and sucking with rhythm and force. Helaena cried out, body jerking, thighs quivering as the pleasure built too fast to bear.
So greedy now. So good.
Rhaenyra pulled back with a loud, wet pop—then flicked her tongue over Helaena’s clit, back and forth, wicked and precise. Helaena moaned, her hips rocking slightly on instinct.
And then it broke.
The coil in her belly snapped—hot and fast—and she came, shaking, crying out Rhaenyra’s name in a voice she barely recognized as her own. She could feel her wetness drip and spill down onto Rhaenyra’s mouth, her chin, the sheets. Rhaenyra groaned—low and pleased—and sucked it all up. She tapped Helaena’s thighs, firm and comforting, and Helaena moved them away from her shoulders, gasping, trembling all over.
Her body buzzed.
So good. So good.
Just like when Aegon devours me. But better.
But…slower.