The penitence of the wolf - A curious dragoness. (Patreon)

Rhaegar Targaryen, The Red Keep – King’s Landing.

—Are you sure this report is true?— the prince asked, frowning as he walked beside Cersei through the halls of the fortress.

The iron lioness nodded calmly.

—It is. The Faith continues to cause problems. They see the prosperity of the city and have begun demanding greater donations. I have also heard threats against the Rhoynar altars and the grove of the First Men your father ordered to be built. Our soldiers protect them, but the fanatics grow bolder. The discord in the city increases, and if we do not remove the poison at its root, we will have serious problems.—

Cersei’s voice was firm and calm, but the concern was more than evident on her face—one that Rhaegar shared.

—A large part of the fleet and the army marched with my father to crush the Greyjoys. I am sure those idiots of the Faith will try to take advantage and do something stupid,— the prince spat, with evident concern and fury on his face.

—Your father gave orders to carry out Elia’s plan. As far as I know, the alchemists of Dragonstone are working on a kind of wildfire less volatile, to contain the attack in the Sept. But while the substance is not yet complete, we are vulnerable.—

Cersei’s words, as usual, were precise and raw. The lioness spoke nothing but truth.

—Any information about our Essosi guest?— the prince asked, sighing when Cersei shook her head in frustration.

—The eunuch is slippery. I keep him under watch at all times. I know from reliable sources that no one in the castle is a traitor, but I cannot say the same about the city. King’s Landing is too large,— the blonde confessed.

—Do not trouble yourself. In the worst case, we cut off his head and be done with it. My father and I are sure he hides too much in those sleeves. The moment he becomes too troublesome, we will simply remove him from the board,— Rhaegar ordered coldly.

Cersei nodded softly.

—I will leave you, my prince. It has been an exhausting day, and I must review some reports about Lioness Hall,— said the blonde with evident pride.

Rhaegar smiled and nodded, genuinely happy for the young lioness. His father was setting an unprecedented example. By naming not one, but two Ladies as rulers of places as important as Lioness Hall and the Prince’s Pass, he demonstrated the trust he placed in them, as well as their place within the royal family.

Because Rhaegar was not a fool, he knew perfectly well that what his father was doing was creating several branches of House Targaryen to guarantee the survival of the family.

—I am glad. If anyone deserves that castle, it is you, Cersei,— said the prince sincerely, chuckling softly as Cersei rolled her eyes, though a satisfied smile adorned her face.

—There is also news from the queen. She requests that you fly one afternoon to Dragonstone to discuss a matter of vital importance, though not truly urgent.—

Rhaegar nodded, making a mental note of it. Moments later, the prince bid farewell to the lioness, and both went to their respective chambers.

His beloved wife had left him a note in his study, saying that tonight she had a surprise prepared for him, and that he should not keep her waiting.

—What do you think Elia’s surprise is, Arthur?— the prince asked with curiosity, addressing his best friend and loyal shadow.

—I can make a guess, but I...—

The words were interrupted by a familiar voice, a loud moan born from the lips of his beloved wife.

—OH LYA!! YES, LIKE THAT!! GODS!!—

Rhaegar looked in disbelief toward the door of his chambers, where Prince Lewyn stood guard, his face tense, evidently quite uncomfortable.

—Ser Lewyn,— said Rhaegar, prompting the man to look at him and nod respectfully.

—Your Grace,— the relief in his voice more than evident.

Rhaegar looked at him with amusement and gestured with his hand.

—You may retire, Ser. Arthur will stand watch until morning,— the prince ordered, while beside him the knight Dayne nodded calmly.

—By your leave, my prince,— he said, bowing his head before moving quickly toward the White Tower.

—I imagine listening to the niece you helped raise making those kinds of noises is quite uncomfortable for Lewyn,— said Rhaegar with amusement.

—Not as uncomfortable as listening to your sister doing it with the king,— Arthur replied with a grimace of agony, making Rhaegar burst into laughter.

—Good night, old friend,— said Rhaegar as he entered his chambers and walked toward the bed.

Finding the surprise his wife had spoken so much about.

The stench of sex flooded the place. The smell of wet cunt filled his nose with the subtlety of a dragon, causing his virility to harden instantly.

The sight that greeted him… must have been a gift from the Gods themselves.

Elia, his beautiful, lustful and seductive wife, completely naked, lying on the marital bed, with her legs fully spread, a layer of sweat covered her body and her eyes were closed, completely lost in the pleasure she was feeling.

Her cinnamon skin glowed under the candlelight, her beautiful body adorned with golden jewelry, while a familiar maiden, with black hair and pale skin, feasted on her crotch with the voracity of a rabid bitch.

—Oh my Lya! Yes! Keep going like that!! Just a little more!!— Elia begged, panting with pleasure and writhing uncontrollably, her breasts, still swollen with the milk she used to nurse Rhaenys, rising and falling frantically.

And although Rhaegar looked at his wife with extreme desire, he could not help but look at the exquisite vision that was Lady Lyanna.

The wolf maiden was on her hands and knees, her face buried in Elia’s womanhood, her ass raised high and swaying in a hypnotic rhythm—large, with wide hips, perfect for his dragon cubs, the prince thought.

Her flower was drenched, and the patch of hair that guarded it glistened, while her lips pulsed with unmistakable desire, contracting upon themselves, aching for something to be inside her.

Something that would soon be solved.

Elia opened her eyes without stopping her moans, keeping Lyanna’s head pressed against her lower lips. Her brown eyes looked at him with amusement and challenge, and Rhaegar understood the message instantly.

Elia’s hand tangled in Lyanna’s hair, pressing her even closer against her burning cunt, at the same time that Rhaegar gently placed his hand over the wolf maiden’s heated womanhood.

And the moment his fingers touched Lyanna—

—MMMHMM— the wolf tried to pull away from Elia, surprised by the sudden touch, but Elia quickly calmed her, while Rhaegar used his other hand to softly caress her ass.

—Shhh, easy, my wolf… it is only our man claiming what is already his,— said the Dornish princess, not allowing Lyanna to separate from her needy pussy.

Those words calmed Lyanna, who tried to turn to look at the prince, something Elia did not allow.

—I did not give you permission to abandon your duties, my love. Let our man enjoy your needy body. You attend to me as you should… later I will make sure to return the favor,— Elia promised in a lustful tone.

Lyanna obeyed, returning to devour her with fervor and hunger.

Rhaegar, more aroused than he had ever been in his life, began to caress the wolf maiden with softness and a mastery born from months of experience with the female body. His beloved wife had trained him thoroughly in the arts of pleasure.

And Lyanna was now receiving the fruits of that work.

His fingers moved at the exact angle, at the perfect speed, applying the ideal pressure, making the proud, wild and untamed Lyanna Stark…

Become a bitch in heat at his mercy.

—OOOOOHHHH— she moaned completely out of control, her legs trembling as a torrent of feminine juices flowed from her needy ousst, pulsing erratically, clearly craving more than what Rhaegar was giving her.

Elia laughed with delight, feeling how the little northern wolf increased the speed of her tongue.

—Oh dear, I do not know what you are doing to her, but our she wolf likes it. Fuck her already, once and for all! She is ours to do with as we please!— Elia ordered, completely overtaken by pleasure, her wild eyes fixed directly on Rhaegar.

Rhaegar, overwhelmed by lust and desire, simply obeyed. He took his virility in hand and began to slowly massage the entrance of Lady Lyanna.

The she wolf, completely surrendered, raised her hips even higher, silently begging to be taken and broken at once, but Rhaegar was feeling mischievous tonight.

—Do you want me to take you, my Lady? To claim you and make you mine? To have you warm our marital bed every night?— the prince asked, a low laugh escaping him as he felt Lyanna’s body respond eagerly, her desire unmistakable.

Elia laughed softly, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

—My father wanted to make you Lady of the Gift, you know? But I have a better idea. I will keep you here, with Elia and me… as our own pet, as our second wife. You belong to us, this cunt is Elia's and mine— said the prince, his voice thick with possession as he finally began to enter her, slowly, deliberately, savoring the tight heat that welcomed him.

Lyanna cried out, her composure shattered, yet unwilling to pull away from the sensations. She lifted her head from Elia for a brief instant, her eyes glazed and her voice breaking with need as she spoke.

—Yours! I am yours, my prince! It would be the greatest honor to be your wife!—

Her face flushed, her gaze unfocused, it was evident she was already overwhelmed, her strength fading under the weight of everything she was feeling.

Rhaegar noticed it—and chose not to slow down, his dragon blood demanded to tame her, to fuck her so hard she couldn't walk away till morning.

He needed to mark her.

And there was no clearer way to do so, that his dragon seed deep inside her.

With a deep, almost feral growl, he increased his pace, driving into her with growing intensity, drawing another peak from Lyanna, whose body trembled under him, barely able to remain conscious.

nothing surprising, the she wolf was a virgin, and Rhaegar was giving her the fucking of a life time.

Moments later, he released himself fully, his burning seed deep insider her womb, his body tensing as he claimed her completely, sealing the act with a final, decisive motion.

—AHHHHH MY LOVE!! I...AM...yours...— Lyanna gasped, her body giving out at last, collapsing forward with a faint, satisfied smile still on her lips, her form trembling faintly as exhaustion overtook her, while his seed leaked out of her well fucked cunt.

Lyanna was tamed, collared and claimed.

He hasn't fuck her ass yet, but that will need a lot of patience and time.

Elia, seeing the young wolf spent for the moment, sighed with pleasure, yet she did not close her legs—not even for a second. Instead, she looked at Rhaegar with clear intent.

—Come here, and fulfill your duty, my husband. I am eager to give Rhaenys and the little dragon you put in Lya a little brother,— the Dornish princess said, her voice still heavy with lingering pleasure.

Rhaegar smiled, amused, as he moved toward his wife, his hands already roaming her body before joining with her in a single decisive motion that drew a deep, guttural sound from her lips.

—Tonight, I will give both of you dragons to nurture my love— Rhaegar promised, the dragon within him fully awake now, demanding devotion, submission, legacy.

The night had only just begun.

Rhaella Targaryen, Visenya’s Tower – Dragonstone.

“Balerion, ñuha zaldrīzoti ānogar, se ñuha ōdrikagon gevie syt ao ōdrikagon.”

Rhaella’s words were spoken perfectly, channeling just the right amount of what Visenya referred to as “soul flame.”

Rhaella had noticed something quite peculiar during the progress of her arcane studies—she seemed to have a far more natural inclination toward Valyrian magic, while Aerys and Rhaegar were far more dominant when it came to the magic of the First Men.

While she could make flames dance and strike at her will, her beloved husband could barely manage to ignite the edge of Dark Sister.

The answer? Simple.

Valyrian magic was matriarchal.

According to the journals of the Targaryen of old, women were the archons of their families—the most powerful sorceresses of all Old Valyria, those who gathered at the Anogrion during the most important ritual dates.

Fourteen in total. One for each flame of Old Valyria.

It was not that the Dragon lords were any less important—far from it—but Valyrian magic in men manifested through physical attributes.

Dragonlords lived longer, easy a hundred and fifty years, gained muscle rapidly, had sharper instincts, they were, quite literally, designed for war and conquest.

While women, more long-lived and naturally attuned to valyrian magic, were the ones who governed and administered the lands they conquered.

A symbiotic relationship that, though unthinkable by current standards, had once granted Valyria dominion over an entire continent.

Alas, that was history. Valyria was gone, and now House Targaryen ruled Westeros—with different customs, and a different people.

They would have to adapt.

However, that was not what mattered now.

What mattered was the ritual she was performing.

According to Visenya, the rite to Balerion was performed in the seventh moon and symbolized the connection between the soul and the dream realm.

A place where the body was meaningless—only the soul mattered.

And the ritual she was performing now would allow her to glimpse every Targaryen soul in Planetos at this very moment.

If all went well, she would need to identify five souls:

Aerys, Rhaegar, Aemon, Rhaenys, and Viserys—excluding herself, of course.

“Jagat mirre hen jagon, gevie ñuha syt tolī!” the queen cried, slicing the palm of her hand and bathing the glass candle with her powerful blood, causing the flame to ignite instantly.

Its color was green, similar to Valyrian fire and in the next instant, Rhaella was no longer in Dragonstone.

She was flying through the skies at an absurd speed, so fast that riding Aeranax felt like crawling by comparison.

The magic carried her first to King’s Landing.

Her granddaughter slept peacefully, while in the adjacent chamber, her beloved son moved with all the intensity of a dragon, joined with his wife and Lady Lyanna.

—As vigorous as his father…— Rhaella said with pride, a faint smile touching her lips at the thought of legacy and continuation, pleased that soon there would likely be more Targaryens in the world.

Leaving the city behind, she passed through Dragonstone and observed her youngest son, sleeping peacefully while embracing a wooden figure her husband had carved for him—Viserys’ favorite toy.

Uncle Aemon was in Harrenhal, speaking with Lord Whent and Lord Reed about the future academy.

Apparently, they wanted to implement a House system within the academy, a kind of friendly competition to foster relationships and teamwork, though Rhaella did not dwell on it for long.

Then, it was her beloved’s turn.

Aerys flew with natural grace atop Rhaegal, while the fleet moved below him in perfect synchronization, all of them ready to hunt krakens.

However…

There was something wrong.

Where Rhaella expected to see Aerys’ familiar features, she instead found herself staring at someone else entirely.

A man with black hair and dark gray eyes.

A presence that radiated a single truth.

Royalty.

What in the Seven Hells was happening?

Who was this man—and where was her husband’s soul?

Rhaella’s curiosity turned sharp, almost alarmed.

But the surprises were not over.

The magic moved her again—beyond Dragonstone, beyond the Narrow Sea—directly to Pentos.

To the palace of the widow princess.

To a beautiful woman with silver hair and purple eyes, seated and surrounded by three small dragons.

She looked radiant, like a goddess made flesh and accompanied by two red priestesses.

—What the hell…— Rhaella whispered, her confusion deepening into something far more dangerous: realization.

And then, abruptly, the magic ended.

With a violent snap, Rhaella was thrown back into the tower at Dragonstone, gasping, exhausted, pale from the loss of blood.

Quickly, the queen sealed her wound with magic, but her mind could not let go of what she had seen.

Who was that man?

Why was his soul inside her husband’s body?

And who was that mysterious woman in Pentos who, like them… possessed dragons?

Rhaella needed answers.

And she needed them quickly.

Aerys had a great many explanations to give.