The penitence of the Wolf - Hard negotiations. (Patreon)

Aerys Targaryen, Close to Sunspear – Dorne.

The southern coastal wind lashed against his face, the burning sun of Dorne kissed his skin relentlessly, but it was not something that truly bothered him, to be honest.

Rhaegal roared proudly, announcing to all of Sunspear that the Dragon King had arrived and with him, the entire Royal Fleet. Although they were only supposed to stop in Dorne to resupply, due to the sheer number of ships, they would remain on this coast for at least a week.

The people of the city gathered at the docks as much as possible, and Aerys did not need to be a genius to know that all eyes were on Rhaegal… and on him.

Good. If they wanted a show, they would have a show, the king told himself as he prepared to land at the Old Palace.

With style.

"Demās, Rhaegal!"

His companion roared and obeyed the command. Rhaegal tucked his wings against his body and began to descend at full speed toward the city.

The sensation was simply indescribable for the king. There was nothing like being in the skies, here, all problems seemed so… insignificant.

So human.

Aerys and Rhaegal continued falling until, just a few feet above the ground, the imposing winged creature opened his wings once more, stopping abruptly and beginning to glide toward the Old Palace using the momentum from the fall.

And as a result, making the king practically fly over the city, which was filled with screams, expressions of excitement and awe.

But that mattered little to the king. Being honest, he had a pending conversation with Myriah Martell… about the future of Dorne within the realm.

A conversation that he knew perfectly well would not be simple.

Oh, not because Myriah was a poor ruler, quite the opposite.

She was so efficient and so good at what she did that Aerys would have to be truly firm to prevent the negotiations from favoring the Martells.

Calmly, the king observed the large courtyard that Myriah had prepared for his landing and descended with great care, making sure not to break anything in the process.

Rhaegal had grown far too quickly, at a simply absurd rate. Not at the same pace as Aeranax, who, just like in his past life, was the largest of the three, but in the short time he had lived, Rhaegal had already reached the size of an elephant.

As well as the appetite of one. The good side was that Rhaegal had developed a taste for fish, and it was common to see him dive into the ocean several times a day only to emerge with his mouth full of them, a habit that Aeranax and Sun Strider had also adopted.

A blessing for the sheep and cattle of the realm, the king thought with relief.

As soon as the heavy paws of his companion touched the palace, making it tremble for an instant, Aerys unchained himself from the saddle with agility and efficiency, descending into the palace courtyard.

At that exact moment, guards and servants alike knelt before him… though the king’s eyes were not on any of them.

But on House Martell.

First, he looked at the princes, Doran and Oberyn, both quite young and both very different.

Oberyn wore a smirk of arrogance and superiority, although the surprise and wonder were more than clear as he stared at Rhaegal. He was young, and therefore, also foolish.

At his side stood who could only be Doran, accompanied by his wife and his young daughter, Princess Arianne, who looked utterly fascinated at Rhaegal, raising her small arms as if she wished with all her being to touch his scales.

“Your Grace,” said Myriah’s voice, soft, feminine, and seductive. Her body was… simply feminine perfection, as if the Mother herself had incarnated in that dangerous Dornish woman.

She possessed generous curves in both chest and hips, the product of her three pregnancies no doubt. She wore an orange and gold dress, the colors of House Martell that left practically nothing to the imagination, exquisitely displaying much of her beautiful sun-kissed skin.

Was it a deliberate gesture to capture his attention? Most likely. Rhaella’s words still echoed in his mind.

Myriah was dangerous, and she would not hesitate to use her body if it benefited her. He knew it was an attempt at manipulation.

And it was working.

The dragon blood within him began to stir, and his eyes could not pull away from the sinful figure, earning a satisfied smile from the princess.

“Princess Myriah, the Queen sends her regards and extends an invitation for you to visit us in the capital after the war,” said the king with courtesy, taking the princess’s hand gently and placing a delicate kiss upon it, longer than necessary, though neither seemed to mind.

The princess’s hand was perfumed, an exquisite scent that reminded him of wood. Her skin was soft and freshly oiled. Myriah was aiming high, it seemed.

And then, the beautiful princess spoke.

“Your Grace, welcome to Dorne, where the nights are more ardent and passionate than the sunlit days of the desert,” said the woman with pride and amusement in her voice.

She introduced her children calmly, who inclined their heads in respect to the monarch, as they walked toward the Palace chatting about trivial matters.

Myriah was giving him a guided tour of the Palace, speaking about the history of House Martell, even from before the arrival of the Rhoynar.

And although Aerys listened attentively, his attention was often claimed by Myriah’s beautiful breasts, which seemed to shine beneath the relentless sun of Dorne.

And judging by the mischievous smile of the princess… she knew it perfectly well.

They spoke of trivial matters, the state of the Fleet, the banquet that night in his honor, and many things of no real importance.

Aerys responded, listened… and observed.

“The Rhoynar influence is more than clear, the high ceilings, the domes, and the large balconies. Everything is precisely designed to take advantage of the sea breeze and cool the Palace. Whoever built this knew very well what they were doing,” said Aerys with complete honesty.

It was not the largest or the oldest castle, but it was functional and perfectly adapted to Dorne, that was worthy of admiration.

His words were well received by the princess, who gave him a radiant smile, a genuine one, easily recognizable by the subtle expressions in her eyes and hands.

“I’m glad you like it, Your Grace. Shall we proceed with our imminent discussion? Or would you prefer to rest and enjoy the pleasures of Dorne?” asked the princess playfully, making Aerys laugh softly.

“Duty before pleasure, Princess. Let us proceed with the discussion. There is a particular matter that… I am certain you will find extremely interesting,” said the monarch.

Myriah nodded as both of them entered the princess’s private solar, large and spacious, located at the highest tower of the Old Palace, offering a beautiful view of the sea.

Aerys was able to see how, little by little, the fleet began to appear on the horizon.

“All preparations for the fleet’s resupply are ready. It should not take more than two days. Do you have information regarding the Greyjoys?” asked the princess as she took a seat on an elegant chair, crossing one of her beautiful legs over the other, giving Aerys, for a brief instant, a glimpse of her womanhood before it was hidden again.

A gesture that, judging by her gaze, had been entirely intentional.

The monarch raised an eyebrow and took a seat in front of the princess, focusing his gaze directly on Myriah’s intelligent and calculating eyes.

“I do. There is movement in the Sunset Sea. The Northern Houses and Seaguard have been warned and are on alert. Balon is planning something. I assume an incursion into the mainland is the most likely course, though I have not yet determined whether he will concentrate the bulk of his fleet on a single large city, or divide it among smaller ports,” said the king calmly, making Myriah nod with elegance.

“I understand. And once again, allow me to thank you for your warning. My maester’s machinations were stopped before he could dispose of me,” said the princess with genuine gratitude, making Aerys nod calmly.

“The grey rats have meddled in matters that do not concern them for far too long. And for that reason… I have a proposition for you,” said the king, before beginning to explain the future academy, his long-term plans, and how he intended to deliver the final blow to the Citadel.

And the more he spoke, the more Myriah watched him with growing amusement… and respect.

“It is an excellent plan, but something tells me you are telling me this for a very specific reason,” said the princess with curiosity, as she played with the rim of her cup, her eyes fixed on the monarch.

Aerys smiled, pleased by Myriah’s sharp mind.

“Indeed. I want you to serve as the Rhoynar representative within the academy,” he said simply, making Myriah nod softly, not at all surprised by the request.

“It was obvious. With Lord Reed, you have the First Men, and Prince Aemon will represent the Valyrians, intelligent decisions,” said the princess.

Aerys nodded and replied:

“Yes. And I have a vague idea of who will represent the Andals, but the goal is for there to be four houses within the academy, where all cultures of Westeros are studied from youth,” said Aerys with passion.

He truly had great faith in the academy project, and although he knew it would bring problems at first, he also believed firmly that it was a great opportunity for the entire realm.

And if, in the process, they could rid themselves of the plague of the Citadel… even better.

Myriah analyzed the king’s words in a calculating manner. Her fingers touched her cheek unconsciously, clearly lost in thought.

“It is an interesting idea. Doran is of an age to begin taking the reins of Dorne, and being closer to Rhaella would be quite… interesting,” confessed the princess, making Aerys smile softly, though he said nothing.

He knew what came next.

The negotiation.

“But… a decision of such importance… I will require certain concessions for Dorne,” she said firmly.

The king nodded. He had been expecting those words.

“Oh? One would think that a marriage with the heir prince, and that the future Queen of Westeros carries Dornish blood, would be concession enough,” said the king without losing composure.

As Jon.
As Aerys.

Myriah took a sip from her cup while maintaining eye contact with the king—a gesture both sophisticated and deeply seductive, making Aerys’ dragon blood stir once more.

“It is a good beginning, I admit it. But what you ask implies a considerable investment of resources. I would have to relocate permanently to the Riverlands, invest my valuable time in your ambitious and intriguing project… you must give me some bone, Your Grace,” said Myriah with a playful tone, her finger once again tracing the rim of her cup.

Aerys leaned back calmly and remained silent for a moment, carefully considering his response.

“I understand. I assume you already have something in mind. Let us hear it,” said the king, taking a sip from his drink while keeping his gaze fixed on the ambitious princess.

Myriah smiled and spoke with firmness and authority—the voice of a woman accustomed to ruling.

“A reduction of fifteen percent in taxes for fifteen years, preferential pricing on the food Dorne imports from the Crownlands, and the Crown’s assistance in the complete and total annexation of the Stepstones as Dornish territory”

If the monarch did not possess the iron discipline he had acquired in his life as Jon Snow, he would have laughed in the princess’s face, but he knew that would be counterproductive in the negotiation.

“It will never happen,” he said firmly, and to his complete lack of surprise, the princess did not look displeased or anything of the sort—quite the opposite, eager to hear his words.

“There will be no reduction in taxes, which are already sufficiently low,” he said firmly, making it clear that this matter would not be discussed any further.

Myriah did not react. She simply looked at the monarch in silence, waiting for his next words.

“Preferential prices can be discussed. A reduction of five percent per ton,” he said, and the princess responded immediately.

“Twelve percent. A fair price,” she said, her face full of cunning that Aerys could respect.

“Seven. And I will not go any higher,” said the king firmly, making Myriah take a sip from her cup and spread her legs for an instant, once again showing her womanhood to the king, who this time kept his cold gaze locked on the princess’s calculating eyes.

Eyes that were filled with respect… and perhaps something more.

“Seven it is, then,” said Myriah with amusement, waiting for the final point, the one Aerys had the least issue with.

In fact, it was perfect for his plans.

“And regarding the conquest of the Stepstones, the Crown is willing to assist Dorne, in exchange, of course, for the governance of the islands to be shared between a Targaryen and a Martell,” he said firmly.

Myriah looked at him intently, swirling the wine in her cup calmly.

“Terms of the alliance?” she asked, all pretense of seduction momentarily gone—this conversation was far too serious for that.

At least for now.

“The founding prince or princess will be of both Targaryen and Martell blood. They must choose a new surname—they will bear neither yours nor mine. They will be raised as prince or princess, of course, and marriages will alternate to maintain proper balance. The first marriage will be arranged by the Crown, while House Martell will arrange the second. This pattern will continue for the first six generations, until the house is established and strengthened as a vassal territory of the Iron Throne”

Myriah nodded to herself. That deal was… quite fair for both sides.

But she was certain she could get more.

“I like the idea. But I want Martell ships and trade to permanently benefit from reduced tariffs and prices. I assume House Targaryen would receive the same benefit,” she said, making Aerys nod calmly.

“I see no issue with that,” said the king, as they sealed the preliminary talks with a clash of cups.

Oh, there was still much to do and discuss, but the most important objective, securing Martell support to rid themselves of the maesters, had been achieved.

A truly productive afternoon.

“Although… I would like to add something more, Your Grace,” said Myriah with amusement, as she stood and finished her wine in a single motion.

“Oh?” asked Aerys, intrigued.

Myriah smiled with superiority and removed the serpent brooch that held her beautiful dress in place. The garment slid to her feet, leaving her completely naked before the eyes of the monarch.

Myriah Martell was… simply beautiful. Pure seduction. It was evident that she had been a mother, but that only gave her an even more irresistible allure for Aerys—her wide hips, her perfect ass, and her ample breasts.

She was like a goddess of fertility incarnate.

“I want this prince or princess to be of our bloodline. Rhaella has spoken more than enough about your qualities as a lover… she even dared to say that your virility would be too much for my Dornish blood,” said Myriah as she sat on Aerys’ lap and began to caress his chest, her intentions more than clear.

The king looked at Myriah with a smile and made a mental note to both punish and reward his mischievous wife once he returned to Dragonstone.

“Then let us not waste any more time, Princess,” said the king, standing up while holding Myriah by her hips with alarming ease.

Myriah moaned in surprise and pleasure as she kissed the monarch’s neck and said:

“Take me here, on my desk, with the sun of Dorne as witness. Spill your seed inside me and let us forge a new prince or princess for the realm,” ordered the passionate woman.

Aerys roared in pleasure as the dragon within him awakened.

Myriah had a long night ahead of her.

The serpent believed she could tame the dragon.

The king would prove her wrong.

The nights of Dorne were only just beginning for the monarch… and Myriah would ensure they were exceedingly pleasurable.

For both of them.