Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking-Chapter 80: [] For the North

Chapter 80: For the North

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Catelyn Stark's body was full of restraint as she held back from trying to slap him. But her eyes, those Tully-blue eyes, blazed with a fury that not even winter could quench.

"You insult me," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

I laughed, stepping back from her. "Do I? Or do I offer the same pragmatism you tried to sell?" I swept a hand toward the bed, its sheets still tangled from the Sand girls' earlier theatrics. "You'd sell Sansa's future for a crown but clutch your pearls at this? How very... honorable."

"You truly are a disgrace, Viserys," she dared call me by my name, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Your father might've been mad, but you... you're something worse. To make such a proposition to a woman whose husband's grave is barely cold? To mock my loss, my duty, and even suggest such filth? It's pure vile."

I chuckled, feeling the sound echo off the stone walls. "Vile? You come to me while speaking of the realm's politics, alliances, and marriage, yet balk when the game turns to flesh? You're not as naive as you pretend, Lady Stark. The North is cold, so you must know how warmth is shared."

She just stared at me, unblinking. One thing was for sure, Catelyn Stark was a strong woman. I loved her type.

I stepped closer, not to intimidate but to watch the way her resolve strained against her propriety. "On the same note, if I do marry Sansa, wouldn't that make you my dear mother by law? Imagine the family dinners."

Her expression twisted in disgust. "And would you boast of bedding the mother along with the daughter? Is that how low Targaryens have fallen?"

"Oh, you wound me," I mocked, pressing a hand over my heart. "A Targaryen bedding his own kin? Hmm, has that ever happened before?"

Her knuckles turned white, nails biting into her palms. "It was different then. Your people were different then. You... you are nothing like your ancestors. Not Aegon, not even Rhaegar—that rapist. You're just a creature playing at being king, hiding behind a dragon's shadow."

"If you really think my dragon is the only strength I have, you underestimate me." I collapsed into my chair, sloshing wine carelessly over the rim. "But yes, I've had enough of this bickering. If you're so against it, so against giving Sansa the crown even though it'll just cost you a night, then run back to Robb. Tell him the dragon doesn't bargain with wolves who bare their teeth then beg for scraps."

She stood rigid, fists trembling, her pride warring with desperation. I let the silence stretch, savoring it.

Then she turned—sharp, final—toward the door.

Predictable. I sighed.

Lunging forward, I yanked her arm hard enough to bruise. She stumbled, a gasp tearing from her throat as I crushed my mouth to hers.

No tenderness—but rather attempting a conquest. She groaned, and her nails scraped my neck, drawing blood, but I didn't budge. I shoved her onto the bed, her braid unraveling across the rumpled sheets.

"Pride," I spat, leaning back and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Blood smeared the linen. "You reek of it, Lady Stark. So desperate that you hesitate, and yet your pride leads you away. I had to take the initiative in the end. So drop the act, mother-in-law, and we can get this over with."

She didn't try to back away. Didn't speak. Just glared, chest heaving, lips swollen. That meant she'd accepted defeat.

The candle guttered, casting jagged shadows across her face—a statue of ice and fury, as I smirked down at her.

I had no real reason behind doing this, other than just... wanting to see the naughty Catelyn beg under me.

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Catelyn's breath hitched as the Targaryen bastard loomed over her, his silver hair catching the moonlight like a blade's edge.

A monster, she thought, even as her stupid traitorous eyes traced the lean muscle of his torso—ridges of hardened flesh and the coiled strength of a man who'd carved his way to power. I can't believe I'm having to do this.

His smirk deepened, as though he could hear every venomous word rattling in her skull.

"I like that look, Lady Stark." His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat, calloused but gentle. "All that righteous fury... and yet here you are."

She jerked her face away, staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. For Sansa. For Winterfell. For the North. The mantra felt brittle, crumbling beneath the heat of his palm sliding down to cup her breast through the wool of her dress.

His fingers squeezed, not gently.

"Hm. Still firm for a woman your age," he mused, voice low and mocking. "Tell me, did Ned Stark appreciate these? Or was he too busy praying to his trees to notice?"

Her knee jerked upward on instinct, but he caught it with a laugh, pinning her legs apart with his own. "Bastard," she spat.

"Oh, no. I'm the only trueborn dragon in this realm, darling." His free hand tugged at her laces, the fabric parting with a whisper. Cold air pricked her skin as he bared her to the waist. "But you already knew that."

She refused to shiver. Refused to show him a reaction. Years of motherhood, of loss, of scraping dignity from the frozen earth... none of it armored her against the crude hunger in his gaze.

His palm skated up her ribs, thumb circling a nipple until it stiffened beneath his touch. A traitorous spark of heat coiled low in her belly. Her emotions aside, her body was clearly reacting to those skillful hands of his. Gods, this was unfair.

How could he have draconic powers, a real dragon as his pet, look like a Demi-God on flesh, and be good on the bed? How was she supposed to win against someone like this?

"Stop—stop dragging Ned into your filth," yet, she wasn't going to lose. So she snarled, back arching as his mouth replaced his fingers, teeth grazing the tender peak.

He pulled back, lips glistening. "Mmh? Why? He's dead anyway." His hand slid beneath her skirts, rough fingers finding the slit in her smallclothes. "I think he'll be rather happy to see you happy even after his death, given how honourable he was."

"Your mouth spouts shit."

"Tell me Lady Stark, did good, dull Ned Stark fuck you senseless, or did he just plant his heirs and roll—"

Her palm cracked against his cheek. The sound echoed like a whip.

For a heartbeat, she saw true fury in his eyes—like purple flames that promised violence. It scared her. Her heart trembled in fear.

Then he laughed, slow and dark, catching her wrist and forcing it down against the mattress. "There she is. The wolf beneath the wool. Don't judge me for it, but I like women with strong personalities. Ugh, I'm talking like a third-rate villain."

His fingers dipped lower, parting folds still slick with unwanted arousal. She bit her tongue until copper flooded her mouth, and yet a choked gasp escaped as he stroked a cruel, knowing circle.

Stupid... stupid body! She hated that her body wasn't listening to her. No, it didn't make sense how she could feel pleasure from someone she hated so much.

"Ah. Not so icy after all, Cat." His breath scorched her ear. "Shall I tell Sansa how her mother dripped for the Mad King's son? How your cunt begged—"

"Enough." The word tore from her raw. "Do not call me by my name, and just do what you came for and be done with it, you twisted—"

He withdrew his hand abruptly, lifting fingers glistening in the candlelight. "I don't think you understand. A king does not fuck like a starved peasant. Did your husband never do foreplay?" He stood, stripping his trousers with deliberate slowness. "You're lucky if frue. Because I take my time."

Her throat went dry.

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Body wise, her Ned had been broad where Viserys was lean, thick with the muscle of a warrior who'd earned his strength in battle rather than slaughter. Both men displayed strength. But this... their manhood was vastly different.

Viserys' manhood was a weapon—a pale, rigid length that made her pulse thunder in panic. It was almost as thick as it was tall. Not that her husband had been small; in fact, he had a size to be proud of even among strong northmen, but this... this was on another level.

A Dragon Dick.

Foolish, she cursed herself, even as heat pooled anew. Childbirth had stolen some of her body's ease, but not its memory.

"Forgive me if I'm having too much fun with my crude words, but," he laughed, "you're staring like your lord husband never filled you like you deserve, Cat."

"My lord husband," she hissed, "was twice the man you'll ever—"

He was on her in a heartbeat, knees caging her hips, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

The threat of invasion burned hotter than shame.

"Careful, Cat." He brushed a strand of hair from her face, almost tender. "Lie to the realm. Lie to your gods. But don't lie to yourself. Ned Stark could not defeat a dying king on his own. But I did. Twice. On the same day."

She met his gaze then, blue fire clashing with violet. Does he think bragging makes him appear strong? She made sure he saw her hateread, that he realized how pathetic she thought he was.

His smirk returned, edged with something dangerously close to respect. "Good. And I can't lie, aside from my taunting words, I really like you. So hold onto that glare. It'll make the next part sweeter."

Why's he acting like he's so sweet all of a sudden? Her head throbbed in anger. Then he leaned in, lips grazing hers.

At the same time, his hips moved to insert that majestic sword into her womanhood.

The intrusion came slowly—agonizingly so. Catelyn bit her inner cheek until iron flooded her tongue, nails carving half-moons into her palms.

Not so different from my wedding night, she thought wildly. Ned had been gentle. Careful. This... Such a size made her feel like she was a girl losing her virginity.

Viserys paused, cockhead seated fully inside her. "You feel tight as a maid," he murmured, thumb brushing the scar across her abdomen. "Can't believe just a year of missing sex did this. Or is it two years? Since you were separated from Ned a while before his death."

"Imbe- AHNG~!" Her retort died in a shattered gasp as he slammed home.

Flames.

Not the clean burn of violation, but liquid gold spilling through her veins. Her spine arched off the bed, a high trembling moan escaping before she could cage it. Viserys laughed, the vibration traveling through where their bodies joined.

"Look at you," he said, withdrawing almost fully before thrusting again.

Each movement struck her cervix—a brutal piston between agony and something darker. "North's frosty lady melting around a Targaryen cock. Ah, father would have loved to watch this sight. I suddenly feel like a proud son."

Tears blurred her vision. She refused to name them. "I...hate...y—"

The words shattered as he angled his hips, grinding against her sensitive spot that turned pain to lightning. Her thighs shook, betrayal written in the slickness soaking his thrusts.

"Liar." He punctuated the word with a slap to her thigh, pale flesh blooming red. She moaned in pain. "Your cunt weeps prettier lies than your tongue. Maybe you just have a whore's cunt?"

She wanted to deny it. She wanted to yell at his face and spit, but she could only cum like a bitch in heat as her legs trembled for him. For his big, burly cock.

Tens of minutes of getting fucked, he went for a change and flipped her onto hands and knees. She didn't fight. Couldn't.

"HAAHNG?!" Somehow, the new position buried him deeper, making her body even crazier. Each snap of his hips slapped flesh against flesh heard enough that someone passing by might mistake it for thunderclap.

She choked on a sob, forehead pressed to sweat-damp sheets. "P-please...st—"

"Please what, Lady Stark?" A hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back. The angle shifted and bliss and torment exploded in her body. "Beg properly."

This—

This was crazy.

Could mere sex really feel like this?!

Her Ned her never been rough with her. He was always gentle, and she loved doing it with him because it made her feel safe and desired. But this... this was pure lust, and it made her see the world in a different light. Her mind seemed to melt from pleasure.

Her body answered before her pride. "S-slower! Gods, slower, I c-can't—"

He clicked his tongue, free hand ignoring her trembling body to pinch a nipple. "But you can. I guess my dirty tongue is to blame for it, but you do remember the reason behind our intimacy, right?" A particularly vicious thrust accompanied his words. "Sansa's prospects depend on how well you take your king, did you forget? We're trying to test our compatibility. But if you tell me to slow down... Haah. That means you're not worthy for this dragon's dick."

How can a person be so full of himself?!

....

How long was she fucked like that, with him behind her, holding her hair, and slamming into her nonstop?

She'd long lost track of time.

The mirror came next. He raised her into the air with his strong, muscular arms, and carried her in front of the mirror.

Her reflection horrified her—her flushed cheeks, breasts swaying with each brutal thrust, mouth slack around silent pleas. Viserys chuckled against her ear, fingers digging into her hips. "See? Even your face that's usually full of honor enjoys this."

When her legs gave out, he followed her down to the cold stone floor. The final thrusts came jagged and sharp, her third climax tearing through her like wildfire.

She watched in the mirror as her face went slack, a broken animal sound escaping her throat. Before this day, Catelyn didn't know she could make such an obscene sound.

Viserys withdrew with a wet pop, casually wrapping a towel around his waist. "Well, that was adequate. But now I need a shower. You clean up too and return. I really want to continue further, but it'd be troublesome if people hear us together."

The word stung worse than the ache between her thighs. Catelyn lay shaking, cheek pressed to stone as footsteps retreated.

"W-wait!" She hated the rasp in her voice. "Sansa... you'll..."

He paused at the door, silhouette haloed in torchlight. "Oh, I'll fuck your daughter, Lady Stark." A smile sharp as Valyrian steel. "You've already made your point with this... demonstration. Wait for my decision tomorrow. I think you'll like it. No promises, though."

The slam of the door echoed like a funeral bell, returning some clarity to her.

Alone, Catelyn curled around the hollow in her belly. She suddenly missed the sensation of fullness she felt earlier. Realizing that made her face pale.

The scent of sex and shame clung to her skin. For the North, she told the ghost of Ned's smile. Always for the North.

Somewhere deep beneath the lies, her body trembled for more.

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