Aegon Targaryen, would-be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, strode from the tent into the cold night air. He was in a dangerous mood. The negotiations with the northmen were taking longer than he would have liked, and the atmosphere was becoming heated. Part of him wanted to scream threats at the northern lords, to have the stiff-necked fools fed to Balerion, but he knew he could not afford to act like a tyrant, not if he wanted to avoid war and bring the North into his kingdom peacefully. The latest news from his sisters was that more lords were coming to his banner with every passing day, but their armies were still heavily outnumbered by the combined might of the Westerosi, and the long leagues of the North were more than even Vhagar or Meraxes’ wings could cover in a short time. For the safety of the men he had brought to the North, he had to keep his temper in check.

Seeking solitude, Aegon strode beyond the picket line and walked a little way into the snow-muffled woods. Night lay heavily over the wolfswood, and the previous day’s snow still drifted up against the trunks of the trees. Frost-rimed twigs glistened in the moonlight.

Aegon sighed as he began to piss, his urine steaming in the freezing northern air. He’d drunk too much wine at the negotiations, and with so many men in the war tent the atmosphere had become stuffy and warm. The cold, crisp air, and his emptying bladder, both made him feel more clear-headed. He watched the rime of frost on his chosen tree dissolve with some satisfaction.

“Good evening, your Grace.”

Aegon turned to see a young woman watching him. She was wrapped in a fur-trimmed coat, but her hood was down to keep her features clear. She was pale-skinned like all northern women, with hair as dark as a raven’s shadow and eyes the blue of a frozen pool. Everything about her, from her voice to her clothing, told Aegon she was a noblewoman.

“Good evening my lady,” Aegon replied. “You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage.”

“Perhaps that was my intent,” the noblewoman replied. “Northern nights are cold without a man to warm your bed.”

“Are you not married?” Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow as the woman walked towards him, her light boots crunching the snow.

“I am,” she replied. “My lord husband awaits your return in the war tent. I am grateful to you for drawing him away for so long. He is a tiresome man, and more than twice my years.”

“More than any woman of your beauty should be made to endure,” Aegon sympathised.

“It is our lot,” the woman replied, and Aegon did not know if she was referring to noblewomen, or all women. “In any case, I am resolved to take my pleasures where I can.”

“Perhaps your king could assist you in that.”

“Oh, I think he could. But no king should take an audience without first receiving homage.”

Walking slowly closer, the noblewoman took her right thumb seductively between her teeth and tugged her glove loose. She repeated the move with three other fingers before she reached him, laying her other hand on his chest. Slowly, she reached up and pushed the last finger between his lips. Aegon took her fingertip gently into his mouth and bit down a little. The woman tugged her hand free of the glove, and then slipped it down to caress his cock. The freezing air had kept him limp, but Aegon felt warm life stir within him as she kneaded and pulled, coaxing him to erection.

Nor did she leave him foolishly holding her glove in her mouth; instead she collected it with her still gloved left hand and wrapped that arm around his shoulders, pulling their bodies against each other. Her upturned face communicated a desire that needed no words; Aegon’s mouth lowered to meet hers even as his penis climbed to its full height. Their tongues met and played within their joined mouths, Aegon’s nerves alight as her bare hand stimulated his erection.

Breaking their kiss, the woman dropped to her knees in front of Aegon and took his cock into her mouth. Aegon rested his left hand against the tree, moaning as she pleasured him. The frozen forest seemed trapped in a moment, the moonlit frost sparkling for him. After a brief, blissful eternity, the woman came off him and rested her face against the underside of his dick.

“I’m afraid the snow has soaked my pants,” she said.

“Best take them off,” Aegon replied.

A moment’s scramble later and Aegon was sweeping the woman up, hoisting her by the legs as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He rested her up against the tree, her bare flesh warm on his forearms as her vagina beckoned. He locked eyes with her an instant before he pushed his whole body forward, pressing her into the tree trunk as he penetrated her from beneath. Her mouth formed a small, silent oh, the soundless exclamation drifting from her lips in a puff of vapour.

Aegon braced his boots in the snow as he began to thrust in and out of her, sinking into a lustful rhythm. Their eyes stayed locked as they coupled, Aegon’s hard and intense, hers wide and triumphant as she welcomed the king inside her. Her entire body was off the ground, Aegon’s arms looped under her thighs and his hands crossed in the small of her back. Only the tree and her own upper body strength were keeping her up as she rode Aegon’s thrusts, her body moving up and down in sync with his. They were both panting and moaning with lust now, their spirits rising higher and higher as each thrust brought them closer to their climaxes like birds flying towards the sun.

“Your Grace,” the woman panted, “I serve your pleasure but…a Targaryen bastard might be…hard to explain to my husband…”

Aegon’s focus narrowed as he began to grunt, the orgasm she had anticipated closing in. He slid out of her and let her legs down, his swollen member holding the freezing air at bay with its raging heat. He thought if she would take his seed in her mouth, but instead she bent to collect something from within her discarded pants.

“Here,” she whispered, sliding her smallclothes three quarters of the way back up. “In these.”

Aegon obliged, moving his trembling erection into the warm space between her smallclothes and vulva. He gasped softly as his orgasm hit, silvery seed spurting into the fabric the noblewoman held for him. He juddered until he was spent, a dribble of cum running down his dick and over the backs of his fingers.

“A memento of our time together,” the noblewoman explained, pulling her smallclothes back up so that his seed touched her vulva. “I will keep you close.”

A short time later, Aegon was back inside the negotiating tent. Torrhen Stark, the tall, wild-haired King in the North, gripped the edge of the table and leant forward, as implacable as ever. The terms of surrender he was suggesting amounted to virtually no surrender at all, and left far too much leeway for either him or his descendants to challenge Aegon’s rule. Aegon felt his frustration start to simmer up again, pushing through the pleasant, empty ache in his balls. He barely noticed the tent flap open, but almost did a double take when the young noblewoman he had just fucked slipped inside with a bowl of wine.

“For my king,” she said demurely, placing the bowl in front of Torrhen. She pecked him on the check before stepping back, the picture of wifely duty.

“This is my wife, Lysa,” Torrhen grunted, gesturing at her dismissively. Her eyes betrayed nothing as Aegon looked at her and lowered his head in slow understanding.

The negotiations would succeed.

The next day, Aegon mounted his black dragon Balerion and flew south. King Torrhen Stark had knelt in submission and accepted his new place as Lord Torrhen Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Aegon did not like the man but sensed he would be a good vassal. He would have to ensure that he visited Winterfell in time, to strengthen their alliance and learn how the northern third of his burgeoning kingdom was governed.

And, of course, to pay his respects to Lord Torrhen’s wife.