Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking-Chapter 108: [] Iron Queen with Iron Wings

She was certain King Viserys wouldn't mind giving her that little freedom.

The city sprawled before her, reeking of opportunity and filth in equal measure. So different from Pyke's harsh, clean simplicity.

In the distance, the Red Keep rose on Aegon's High Hill—a crimson behemoth housing the man who'd given her both power and chains.

Dragon King. Her ally. Her ruler.

Yara had never intended to bend the knee to anyone, yet here she was, sailing to present tribute like some conquered vassal. But the arrangement served her purposes. Her people flourished under this new order. The Iron Islands had never been wealthier.

The Dragon King can have his illusions of control as long as we prosper under it. She told herself.

She'd seen the fear in men's eyes when her wings spread wide across moonlit skies. She'd tasted the terror when her silhouette passed overhead before a raid.

With each victory, her legend grew—the Iron Queen who rode the winds.

The massive hull of Black Wind scraped against the dock as sailors scrambled to secure mooring lines. Yara inhaled deeply, tasting the foul city air—sewage, woodsmoke, too many people living too close together.

A woman with copper hair stood waiting on the dock, dressed in deep red. Even from the ship, Yara could see she carried herself with practiced elegance that belied her rumored origins.

The Mistress of Whispers, once a Northern whore.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Queen Yara," Ros called up as Yara descended the gangplank. "His Grace eagerly awaits your arrival."

"I bet he does," Yara replied, studying the woman's controlled smile. "I've brought treasures that'll make even a dragon purr."

Ros's laugh tinkled like polished bells. "I doubt that. My King isn't so easily pleased. This way, if you please. His Grace awaits in the Red Keep."

As they wound through the city streets, Yara observed the teeming masses with a sailor's calculating eye.

So much wealth, so poorly defended. Had she come as a reaver rather than an ally, King's Landing would have made a tempting target.

Of course, the roar of the dragon that circled the sky returned her to reality.

The Street of Steel rang with the clatter of hammers. The Street of Flour wafted warm, yeasty scents that almost masked the city's underlying stench. Everywhere, smallfolk scrambled from their path, eyes downcast.

"The Dragon King has been busy," Yara remarked, noting new construction where wildfire had scorched buildings during the Battle of Blackwater.

"His Grace rebuilds what was damaged and improves what was neglected," Ros replied diplomatically.

Always the perfect courtier, Yara thought. Wonder if she still spreads her legs for coins or just for secrets now.

On her way, Yara paused briefly when she saw the legendary Red Priestess talking to a few children with a smile on her face. The woman looked different than the usual religious heads she was used to seeing.

She didn't waste much time staring, though. They continued their walk.

The Red Keep loomed larger with each step, its battlements and towers etched against the sky like a threat made stone. Nothing like the weathered, sea-carved rocks of Pyke. This was beautifully done raw power, unapologetic in its dominance.

"His Grace has made changes to the throne room," Ros explained as they passed through the outer gates. "Dragon motifs everywhere. Quite striking."

"I'm sure," Yara said dryly. "Nothing says 'kneel before me' like dragon heads on every surface."

By the time they reached the royal wing, Yara's patience had worn thin.

Court pleasantries, of servants bowing, had never been her strength. She longed for the straightforward brutality of the sea.

"Here we are," After minutes, they stopped outside an ornate door. "The King's bed chambers."

Is it? Yara was confused. Why were there no guards standing watch? Yara blinked in understanding when unmistakable sounds came from within.

"Mhm... yes... there! A-ahng!" There was a rhythmic thumping, followed by feminine gasps, and a man's low growls.

She raised an eyebrow at Ros. "Perhaps I should wait until his... royal business concludes."

Ros's lips quirked in amusement. "That won't be necessary, Lady Greyjoy. His Grace has given explicit permission for your immediate entry."

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Without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

Yara didn't have the time to say no. The scene inside hit her like a wave—hot, primal, and impossible to ignore. On the massive bed, Viserys knelt behind an olive-skinned woman with cropped dark hair, his hips slamming against her with brutal force. Beside them was a woman she recognised, Arianne Martell, with her unmistakable lush curves and silver eyes, who teased and twisted the other woman's nipples, whispering encouragement.

"Beg for it, Tyene," Arianne purred. "Show him how sorry you are. Beg~ you slut, beg him to forgive you."

All three glistened with sweat, their bodies moving in hypnotic rhythm.

Tyene's lithe form arched and trembled, caught between pain and pleasure. Arianne's full breasts swayed with each motion, her dark hair cascading over caramel shoulders. Viserys dominated them both, silver-gold hair clinging to his forehead, muscles flexing with each powerful thrust.

Huh. Politics as usual by King Viserys' standards, Yara thought as she dryly stared at the scene. Despite how little she cared, she felt a traitorous heat kindle low in her belly.

She never saw Viserys as her lover, so she wasn't surprised or jealous. But her body... her body reacted as it remembered.

Viserys turned to the door just then, his violet eyes landing on her with predatory recognition. He didn't slow his pace as his lips curved into a smile.

"Oh, you're here," he said, voice husky with exertion. "Strip and join us."

Yara sighed, slowly reaching for the laces of her jerkin. Some treasures, it seemed, would be presented sooner than others.

Yara Greyjoy bit her lips as she felt herself growing wet.

****

The soft patter of bare feet against stone echoed through my bedchamber as Arianne led a trembling Tyene toward the bathing room.

Sweat glistened on their naked bodies, catching the afternoon light streaming through the high windows.

"Come along, sweet cousin," Arianne purred, her hips swaying deliberately as she glanced back at me. "Let's get you cleaned up... before our next session."

"Yeah... but..." Tyene, her short-cropped hair matted against her forehead, paused at the archway.

Unlike the defiant viper who'd tried to poison me weeks ago, she lowered her eyes and dipped into a respectful curtsy. "Thank you for your... mercy, Your Grace," she murmured, voice hoarse from her screams of pleasure moments earlier.

"Yes, yes. Now run along," I waved dismissively, enjoying the marks my fingers had left on her olive skin. "Your princess has more to teach you about proper service to the crown."

"I sure do," Arianne's silver eyes flashed with mischievous delight. "She's learning fast, isn't she? Our little talk was quite productive. I told you you can trust me."

"Perhaps," I replied, stretching languidly against the silk sheets. Another few days under me, and Tyene would be addicted to the Dragon Dick to even think of betrayal.

The two of them then disappeared through the archway, pulling Tyene along with her.

The Dragon System had served me well. The Dragondick skill had upgraded twice since I'd first unlocked it with Yara, and it was proving remarkably effective at securing female loyalty.

Not that I'd need it with most women, I mused, but it certainly accelerates the process with stubborn ones.

I turned my attention to Yara, who was panting on the bed and watching the exchange with that characteristic blend of amusement and detachment.

The Queen of the Iron Islands lay naked on my bed, as comfortable in her skin as she was on the deck of a ship. Unlike the soft curves of Arianne or the lithe form of Tyene, Yara's body was hard muscle wrapped in salt-kissed skin, breasts full and high despite her athletic build.

"Jealous?" I asked, noticing how her eyes had followed Arianne's retreating form.

"Of the Dornish princess?" Yara snorted, crossing her arms under her breasts. "Hardly."

"I meant of the attention I gave them," I clarified, rising from the bed. "After all, your reunion gift was quite impressive. I am worried you might get jealous that I appreciated it with other women."

Yara rolled her eyes, but I caught the slight upturn of her lips. "Reunion gift? Really? Greenlanders and your flowery words for fucking. Besides, you know I enjoy women too. It was a great few hours."

I chuckled, approaching her with grace. "Join me for a bath, Iron Queen," I said, running a finger along her collarbone. "I want to hear all about your adventures while we soak."

Without waiting for her response, I pulled her off the bed and led her to my private bathing chamber—a cavernous room of polished marble with a sunken pool large enough for ten.

Steam rose from the surface of the water, scented with oils that reminded me of a summer garden.

Servants must have prepared it while I was occupied with Tyene, and I silently thanked the efficiency of Ros's management. She understood my needs without me having to voice them.

I descended the steps into the warm water first, sighing as the heat enveloped my muscles. Settling against the smooth stone edge, I beckoned to Yara. "Come sit."

She hesitated at the pool's edge, eyeing the ornate dragons carved into the marble tiles. "When the Mistress of Whisper said you decorated the palace with dragons, I didn't quite understand how much. Don't you ever tire of dragons?" she asked, gesturing around the room.

"They're a symbol of power," I replied. "And a reminder of what I've achieved."

"And what you plan to achieve, no doubt," she responded, finally stepping into the water with a barely suppressed groan of pleasure.

I patted my thighs. "Here."

Yara raised an eyebrow. "Seven hells, you're insatiable. We just finished with your Dornish playthings."

"I want to talk, not fuck," I clarified, though the distinction was admittedly blurry when it came to Yara. "You said you had matters to discuss. I'm listening."

With a theatrical sigh that didn't mask her eagerness, Yara waded through the waist-deep water and settled herself on my lap, her back pressed against my chest.

The weight of her felt right somehow, substantial and real in a way that differed from my other conquests.

"So," I began, arms encircling her waist loosely. "Tell me of your raids. I heard whispers that the Iron Fleet has brought terror to the Free Cities."

Yara relaxed against me, her head falling back onto my shoulder. "Better than whispers," she said, pride evident in her voice. "We've rewritten the tales of what Ironborn can do."

"Details," I prompted, my hands absently tracing patterns on her wet skin. She let out a soft moan, relaxing into my embrace.

"Ahb... well, we took Tyrosh first," she began, her voice taking on the cadence of a seasoned storyteller. "Their ships were prepared for conventional attacks—they've dealt with pirates and raiders for centuries. But they weren't ready for me."

My interest piqued. "You used the wings?"

"Aye," she confirmed, a note of reverence entering her voice. "While our ships engaged their outer defenses, I flew over their walls while twenty of my best fighters flanked. We opened the harbor gates from within, and the city fell before sunrise."

I had a hard time picturing it since what Yara had was just the wings. She didn't have the strength enhancement of mine, among other things. She must be a particularly good pick for this power.

I tried to imagine it. Yara soaring through the night sky, dragon wings unfurled like some vengeful valkyrie, terrifying the defenders who'd never witnessed such a sight.

"Pentos and Myr folded even faster once word spread," she continued. "It was fun, especially since they heard about my wings. I guess they thought I was another dragon freak like you. I... don't want to admit this, but perhaps fearing the legends you've weaved lately, they gave in."

"Really?"

"Yes. The Magisters came out personally, offering tribute if we'd spare their cities." A low laugh rumbled through her chest. "We took their gold anyway, but left their pretty buildings standing."

"Smart," I commented. "Better to milk a cow repeatedly than slaughter it for a single feast."

"Exactly what I told my captains." She turned slightly, her profile visible to me now. "We've secured trade agreements that favor the Iron Islands. Regular tributes of spices, silks, and gold in exchange for 'protection.'"

"How admirable. You've made yourself into a proper queen. My strong little Pirate Queen," I said, genuine admiration in my voice as I kissed her hair.

Yara had multiplied the opportunity I'd given her tenfold, and the calculated risk had paid off handsomely.

Her expression grew a little redder at my words as my hands squeezed her waist. This woman acted like she didn't care about my affection, but she was slowly growing into it.

It might be the Dragondick in effect again, since she was the first victim of it, but I couldn't be sure.

Her shy expression didn't remain for long, however. It shifted then, a shadow crossing her features. "It wasn't all easy victories, though," she said, voice dropping. "We encountered... complications on the return voyage."

I stilled my wandering hands, focusing on her words. "What kind of complications?"

"My uncle," she said grimly. "Euron Greyjoy. You warned me about him."

Fuck. Euron was one problem I hadn't yet thought of a solution to.

In the show, he'd been a dangerous wildcard—charismatic, ruthless, and completely unpredictable. If he were active in this timeline, I'd need to deal with him sooner rather than later.

"We were three days from home waters," Yara continued, tension evident in her shoulders. "Sailing through heavy fog when his ship appeared alongside ours. The Silence, black sails and a red hull."

"Out of nowhere?"

"Yes. No warning, no sound. Just there, like a nightmare made real."

I tightened my grip around her waist instinctively. "What happened then?"

"He hailed us with that fucking smile of his," she spat. "He said he'd come to congratulate his favorite niece on her coronation—and to relieve me of both my crown and my head."

"Charming words," I muttered.

"You have no idea," Yara replied darkly. "He's sailed to Asshai and beyond, he said. Seen things... done things that would make even your Kingsguard blanch."

"You clearly escaped," I prompted.

A fierce grin spread across her face. "I showed him what a real Greyjoy can do." Pride radiated from her as she continued, "I unfurled the wings you gave me and leapt into the air. The look on his face—" She broke off with a harsh laugh. "Pure fucking shock. I flew between our ships, calling orders to my men while his crew gaped like idiots."

I could almost see it—Yara with wings spread wide against the misty sky, her uncle's legendary confidence momentarily shattered by the impossible sight.

"He recovered quickly," she added, her expression growing serious again. "Ordered his archers to shoot me down. But I was too fast, too high. I swooped down on his ship, scattering his men, and gave my fleet time to form a proper battle line."

I was impressed by her quick thinking. Same Euron had killed a real dragon in the show, yet he couldn't shoot down Yara. She must be a particularly good flyer.

"And then?"

"He retreated, of course," Yara shrugged, though her tone suggested this wasn't the victory it appeared to be. "Not running away, mind you. More like... withdrawing to reconsider. He knows when the odds aren't in his favor."

I hummed. Euron Greyjoy retreating wasn't the end of a threat—it was the prelude to a more calculated attack.

Next time, he'd be more prepared.

He was such a wild card that I should count him on the danger list with the Faceless Men and Yi Ti's Immortal Emperor.

"He'll be back," Yara stated flatly. "And next time, he'll be prepared for my wings. Maybe yours, too. That's what I came to warn you about. Euron Greyjoy isn't just my problem—he's a man who collects power. And you, Dragon King, are the greatest power in Westeros."

"You really think he has the guts to target me?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"I know he will," she replied. "It's just a matter of when and how. He doesn't play by anyone's rules but his own."

I recalled how, in the show, Euron had allied with Cersei only to pursue his own agenda. How he'd somehow managed to kill a dragon with those scorpions.

The man was dangerous precisely because he combined cunning with complete ruthlessness.

Yara turned in my lap, facing me fully now, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Anyway, fuck that. What matters is that I managed to stay alive."

"True."

"But without these," she said, her muscles tensing as translucent dragon wings briefly materialized from her shoulder blades before disappearing again, "I'd be dead now. My fleet captured. My reign over before it truly began. I believe it."

Before I could respond, she leaned forward and captured my lips in a fierce kiss, her hands framing my face with surprising gentleness.

"Thank you," she whispered against my mouth, the words clearly unfamiliar on her tongue. "These saved my life."

I stared into her eyes for a moment. Then, I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, feeling her strong thighs tighten around my waist.

Despite the warnings of danger to come, I couldn't help but appreciate the unexpected benefit of Euron's appearance—Yara's increased loyalty. Nothing solidified allegiance like saving someone from a genuine threat.

I broke the kiss, leaving a tendril of saliva connecting our mouths. "I always protect what's mine, Yara," I murmured, tracing a finger along her jawline. "Our relationship started rough, I know, but you're my Salt Queen now. You're under my protection."

Her eyes flashed with that familiar mix of defiance and desire. "I'm not yours, little king," she countered automatically, even as her body pressed closer to mine. "You're so full of yourself."

I smiled, feeling the familiar stirring of arousal. "No? Then why are you here, on my lap, in my bath, thanking me for my gifts?"

Without waiting for her answer, I captured her lips again, my hands sliding down to grip her hips.

The conversation about Euron could wait. For now, I had another, more pleasurable way to strengthen our alliance.

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