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It never mattered if I owned you, 'cause you'd let anybody with a body control you.
As soon as Jacaerys Velaryon, the crown prince, was informed that Seasmoke had been sighted with a rider flying through the skies, he understood at that instant that the war had completely changed its course and that his mother, faced with the great unforeseen event, would take Syrax's reins and fly out of the dragon pit to take matters into her own hands. The crown prince had never run so fast through the halls of the fortress, ready to stop his mother from making an unreasonable decision. However, time and his speed were not enough to arrive in time to stop her. Syrax quickly moved away towards the exit, letting out a roar at the order of his mother, the queen.
“Mother!” Jace gasped.
That call did nothing to bring her back.
And there he stayed.
Alone.
Taking Vermax and riding him to go in search of her didn't seem like a good option, his mother's warning branded in his head. Mark my words when I tell you that you will not leave this keep again. Her deep voice, with just the threatening tone used in her words, was enough to make the prince shiver. A shiver ran down his spine at the prospect of a punishment he was unaware of, especially when his mother had taken it upon herself to teach him a lesson the night before. He bit his lip lightly, blushing as he recalled the memory of his mother undoing him over and over again in her bed.
Jace shook his head, trying not to be greedy.
His blush grew more evident.
A pleasant feeling lodged itself in his belly.
(Going back to his mother's room was a very bad idea.)
Now, with his mother's absence again, Jace was once again facing the firm questioning of his mother's council. He already knew that his mother was constantly contested by the men who sat at their ease, having slapped one the day before in front of the entire palace court. That showed what kind of power she had, especially when he was reminded that she was a simple woman. Oh, Jace had already made his peace with that, with the simple fact that his mother was born to be on the throne. His mother was his ruler, and his devotion and love for her was already starting to become a little difficult to hide. He could see how Baela's gaze tried to decipher what was happening to him when he was late to break his fast with her or how he stared at his mother's figure at council meetings.
What was going on there?
What was she not seeing?
What was he hiding?
Hearing the distant roar of Syrax, which Jace had recognized since he was a child, the prince quickly went to one of the balconies to set his gaze on his mother's dragon. However, his breath caught when he saw that there was another dragon accompanying Syrax. Seasmoke, who had rejected one of his mother's most loyal guards, ser Steffon, killing him in the process, was flying through the air along with a new rider that Jace had not yet seen and the prospect of a rider that no one knew, not even him, made his hair stand on end.
Knowing that they would eventually dismount, the crown prince decided to address the council, where the rest of the lords would be there to demand an answer from the queen for her actions.
Jace looked around for Mysaria, who was always present in the halls near the Painted Table room when her queen met with her council. But her absence was something that disturbed the prince, especially since that woman already knew what was going on between him and his queen.
His gaze shifted to one of the guards, who was guarding Maester Geraldys, who had entered the room without the queen.
“The queen is unharmed,” the guard announced.
Jace nearly sneered.
(Of course his mother was unharmed.)
The Hand of the Queen looked at the guard. “What of the rider? Do we know who he is?”
Geraldys stepped forward. “He appears to be a shipwright in your employ, Lord Hand.”
Jace felt the blood drain from his face, his face turning pale at the thought of a commoner, a person who possessed the dragon's blood, managing to ride one unscathed. A bastard, like him, much to his mother's objections. Apparently even Corlys was perplexed, and he was not a rider like his wife. But he knew better than anyone.
"A commoner?" Lord Celtigar pointed out, looking at the Lord of the Tides. "With respect to your workers, Lord Corlys, the lowborn cannot go around seizing dragons. Has the thief been secured?"
Geraldys clasped both hands behind his back. “Her Grace has commanded that he remain here as a guest. She wishes him to be instructed in the art of dragonriding and that I should teach him some High Valyrian.”
Baela's worried gaze settled on the prince's figure, who was absorbed in the discussion of bringing this commoner into the fortress - of treating him like a horseman when he wasn't even born to be one. Jace tried to maintain his composure, deciding that he would receive the right answer from his mother's lips. One way or another.
"Where is the queen?" the heir asked.
"Her Grace sends word she will not be attending, my prince."
That was enough to make his blood, which had boiled many times in his veins, turn cold. Hiding his own uncertainty was of no use, but hearing that his mother, his queen, had allowed a lowborn to be her guest and be considered a dragon rider under her roof — Jace felt like he was entering a spiral that seemed to have no end. The prince, failing noticeably to mask his insecurity, cringed a little and Baela tried to smile at him in order to comfort him. But those murmurs and whispers that the prince heard in his childhood in King's Landing about his bastardy came back like arrows embedded in his body.
Bastard.
Bastard.
That rider, a commoner working for Corlys, was a bastard and had a dragon. He, a prince born under a royal cradle, was a bastard and had a dragon. Jacaerys pressed his lips together in resignation, determined to find his mother to demand a coherent explanation for her decisions, but his feet would not move, leaving him still in the middle of the council where they were discussing whether it was a good idea to bring dragon riders who were Targaryen bastards. He felt a touch on his hand, bringing him back to the present, realizing that Baela was the one who pulled him out of that spiral. Instinctively, he retracted his hand, as if the platinum-haired girl, a true Targaryen, was a plague.
(He felt guilty about it.)
But, despite his manners, he decided to remedy it by grabbing her hand to give it a light squeeze.
Baela smiled at him, squeezing his hand back.
That would be enough to keep her calm for a while.
However, Jace was not calm, he was too far from it. The prince of Dragonstone would eventually have to face the truth of his parentage. Jace knew he had to face the truth that would be spoken by the lips of his mother, who, oh, would try to deny it until the end of her days. As the day progressed, his mind went deeper and deeper into that spiral, falling from the highest place and thus never being able to see the light of the sun, entering into his own darkness that loomed over the crown prince.
Vermax seemed to be his only company in that agonizing moment.
His only companion in the skies.
(Baela always watching him from one of the mountains of Dragonstone along with Moondancer.)
The war, already immersed in it, was beginning to affect him despite his little participation in it.
And the weight of the crown on him seemed to be a sword that would end up cutting off his head.
Jace, dismounting Vermax, decided to seek out the commoner in question to find out who he really was. The halls of the fortress were large, but not as quiet as he thought. He blushed as he remembered how loudly he moaned on the nights he spent in his mother's chambers, or when she decided to take him into her study. Those walls heard everything. Suddenly, his betrothed's voice, so elegant and fierce, was addressed to someone other than the prince—the grave cadence of a boy, of the commoner, reached his ears. Jace, trying not to feel hurt by Baela's actions, slowed his pace to listen a little longer. He leaned against the door, trying to spy through the open crack.
The commoner was dark-skinned, just like his betrothed.
The only difference was that he had dark hair, like the prince.
A commoner, a bastard, just like him.
A dragon rider.
Baela chuckled at a comment the boy made.
Jace's blood, as if suddenly, began to boil with anger.
(He left as quickly as possible, without being discovered.)
His steps, which led to his chambers, were hurried. His hands were clenched into fists, his jaw clenched.
"You seem a little disturbed this morn, my prince."
That voice, Jace did not want to hear that voice.
Mysaria.
The crown prince turned, facing the woman who was in charge of listening and giving advice to his mother in this war. Her gaze was fierce, her lips outlined in a sideways smile, her posture relaxed and her arms crossed against her chest. Her chin up, proud to be part of her queen's court. Jace knew perfectly well that his mother was influenced by that woman.
“I hope you were present when Maester Geraldys confirmed that one of your dragons chose a new rider,” she continued.
“I have heard the news,” Jace replied, trying to maintain what little composure he had left. “A commoner.”
“Your queen will want you at her side with this opportunity, my prince.”
“My mother is making a mistake.”
Mysaria took a step toward him. “Is it a mistake for her to use commoners, bastards of her kin, in order to protect you from a war?”
“She would not do such a thing.”
“Then you do not know her as you think you do, my prince.”
Jacaerys pressed his lips together, in silent fury.
Then the realization dawned on him. Mysaria had been part of the epitome of that plan ever since his mother had gone off to find Seasmoke on her own. The woman cocked her head to the side, studying the prince's face, who seemed to be coming to the right conclusion: his mother would do whatever it took to keep him away from the war.
“Your queen is fighting a war that concerns not only her, but you as well,” Mysaria remarked, walking by his side, tilting her head towards the prince. “And she will not only need your support, but she will also ensure your protection. If using bastard riders to protect her heir will be enough to win the war, she will not hesitate to use that advantage.”
"You are wrong."
“Am I?” the woman asked, studying him with her gaze, curiously close to him, invading him. “Because I can clearly see that your neck has a collar that binds you to her. And every mother knows when she must protect her pup, even when she must pull on the leash to tame it. You should ask her, if you really think I am wrong.”
Her light steps walked away from him, leaving him alone in the hallway.
Jace's eyes filled with tears, wishing that the woman's words were false. But his mother seemed to be the only answer he would have, letting his feet lead him to the study where his queen seemed to take refuge.
His mother's study had once been his safe place.
Now, it seemed to be a place he didn't know.
His mother, who seemed to be immersed in the endless scrolls and books she had in her study, remained silent since he arrived — comfortable with the presence of her firstborn in the same space. Where she could see him, feel him, and hear him, where her prince was safe. The number of times where she saw him roaming the place with his gaze, satisfying his curiosity since he was little. At that moment it was no different.
(For Jace, this time, it was going to be different.)
His mother was about to make a mistake.
His mother was about to allow bastards, just like him, to claim dragons.
The faint glow of the lit candles illuminating her figure, which was leaning against one of the columns, hung over the crown prince with tragic acidity. Rhaenyra never raised her gaze from her book.
“The lowborn claiming dragons,” he asked, staring at his mother. “Was it her idea? Lady Mysaria?”
Jace expected her to show some decency.
That Mysaria was wrong.
That his mother would do no such thing.
“You were enthusiastic enough when Ser Steffon made his claim,” his mother replied without looking at him.
“He was the Lord Commander of your Queensguard,” Jace snapped, offended. “Heir to the Dun Fort. These people are—!”
“Courageous,” his mother cut him off, looking up.
“Mongrels!”
Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, giving him a look that reproached him for his attitude. Jace, suddenly angry, decided to leave before saying something he would regret in the heat of the moment. His steps were quick, but his mother's call made him stop. And he, the honorable prince that he was, turned at his queen's call.
“Think what is at stake,” Rhaenyra replied from her seat.
“I know well what is at stake,” Jace muttered, trying to suppress his anger. “House Targaryen is the blood of the dragon. If any may lay claim to it, what are we then?”
“The rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.”
The confidence in his mother's tone made him even angrier.
"What if one of your baseborn, silver-haired dragonriders decides he wants to rule the Seven Kingdoms? Did the Conqueror's dream foretell that?"
Rhaenyra sat up straighter. "What else would you have me do?"
Jace fell silent.
“Prosecute a war, which we will lose, in which thousands will die,” the queen declared fiercely. “Or fly against Vhagar myself? Or perhaps you will fly against her on Vermax?” She saw the hesitation in her son. "Jace, with these riders, we can end a needless war. I may take my rightful place on my father’s throne.”
"And when you die?" Her firstborn asked.
"You are my heir."
Jace's face had never shown so many emotions at once: so much uncertainty, fear, suppressed anger at his mother's actions. Rhaenyra was not prepared for this moment. Her son ceasing to be a child at this very moment. The heavy silence between them, his own insecurity, of her first baby, was crashing over her like a tidal wave.
"Did you think I would have dark hair?"
Rhaenyra felt like the air was no longer entering her lungs.
Jace, angry, devastated, completely hurt, decided to press further. "When you took Harwin Strong into your bed, did you think I might favor him or did it not cross your mind?"
"Stop, Jacaerys," his mother's tone was brief, demanding.
"I'm no fool, mother!"
"You are a Targaryen, a crown prince," Rhaenyra snapped, getting up from her seat, walking towards her son with determination. "Don't even think of insinuating such a thing."
"Did you think I would have dark hair when you took him into your bed or not?"
A slap landed on his cheek, drawing a gasp from him, allowing his tears to flow freely down his cheeks. A cold, delicate hand gripped his jaw tightly, causing him to look into his mother's angry amethyst orbs.
“Do you really wish to make me angry?” Rhaenyra muttered through gritted teeth. “You came from my womb, boy. I brought you into this world myself.”
“Stop lying to me.”
“Enough, Jacaerys.”
“You took your sworn shield into your bed and let him ruin you,” the boy spluttered, wounded. "You conceived a bastard in your womb."
“Don’t you dare repeat those words,” Rhaenyra muttered, moving closer to his face.
“Prove it, then,” her boy replied angrily, challenging her. “Prove that I am a crown prince and take me. Take me as you took my father in your—”
The clash of lips against his took his breath away, being kissed intensely by his queen, feeling his blood set on fire and his mother's claws looming over his jaw. Jacaerys, letting out a gasp, was dragged through his mother's study, wanting to keep up with her pace to end up in her chambers, thrown against his queen's bed. Breathless, Jace looked up, running into the figure of his mother closing the door to lock it. She put the key aside, turning to fix her amethyst gaze on her firstborn against the foot of the bed, finding a completely blushing Jace.
"Undress," his queen ordered.
"M-Mother..."
"Undress or I will tear off your clothes like I did to your father, as you say," Rhaenyra spat demandingly.
Jace nodded, wiping the tears from his cheeks before he began to undress, removing the layers of clothing to remain naked as the day he came into the world. Rhaenyra walked to a table on the side where she left some of her belongings, taking something that Jace didn't see and the prince settled himself on the bed with his gaze fixed on his queen.
“I was your age when I first took him,” she replied, turning her back. “The only difference is that I had already been ruined by someone else. I was young and wanton, burning for a man who would never take me.” She tilted her head toward Jace. “Just like you.”
Turning, Rhaenyra walked over to where Jace lay naked on her bed, taking in his flushed face, his wide eyes, his swollen lips, his unruly curls adorning his head, his pale, unmarked body, his cock nearly hard between his legs. A boy like him, like Harwin Strong, but with a Targaryen nature, an exact copy of her at his age – a boy on the verge of becoming a man. Jacaerys lifted his chin, receiving a caress from his mother's hand as she brushed her thumb across his lower lip, exerting all her power over him, just as she did with her sworn shield.
Her hand traveled over his neck, making Jace shiver.
“My father’s court wanted me to have an heir already,” she murmured before running her thumb against one of Jace’s nipples. He let out a gasp before closing his eyes and she massaged the nipple with great practice, that gasp turning into a moan. “And I did as they asked, my duty as a princess. That very night I took him.”
Jace gasped as he felt his mother's mouth against his nipple, arching his back to chase the pleasurable sensation. Something settled against his throat, circling around it, then pulling against his mother's body. The prince of Dragonstone stared in amazement at his queen, who had a golden chain clutched in her hand. The firm tug she gave it was enough to make him understand that she already had his boy on a collar, at her mercy, with the sole intention of ruining him.
That tug brought him close to his mother's mouth, where she kissed him and he raised his hands to encircle his mother's wrists, but her words were clear:
"You are not allowed to touch me, Jacaerys, not yet."
Resigned, Jace pulled his hands away.
“I took him to my chambers after kissing him and removed his clothes, then I stripped for him,” Rhaenyra stated as she began to remove her dress, the fabric falling carelessly to the floor, revealing more and more skin to her heir. “He waited patiently, wanting to savor the moment, and I wanted to sink into him from that moment on.”
What Jace least expected was to feel his mother's hand rubbing his cock slowly and lasciviously. His boy sighed at the pleasure, moving his hips to create more friction, throwing his head back to let out a breathless moan. His mother massaged his cock steadily, lightly pressing at the base to remind him who was in charge at the moment. A bite against his neck drew a growl from him, drawing his attention back to his mother, who continued to rub him with her hand. Her amethyst eyes had darkened, leaving in their place two dark, black pits, reflecting her son's own lust.
“As I rode him, I saw a prince,” she murmured in High Valyrian. “Not one with silver hair and amethyst eyes like me, no…” She tightened her grip on Jace’s cock and he moaned senselessly. “I wanted so badly a boy with unruly dark hair, with beautiful freckles on his face, with full, plump lips, with gentle, brown eyes. The prettiest boy in the Seven Kingdoms, but one who behaved like a Targaryen, who would simply take, just like I took him.”
As her thumb caressed the head of Jace's cock, the boy bit his lip, gasping in desire.
"And the gods were merciful to me, granting my wish. To you, my sweet boy," his mother snapped. "My precious baby boy. My good boy. You grew in my womb and I knew when you came out, I would have to be your first love. All mine."
Jace moaned against her lips. “You are, mother.”
“Tell me who I am, my boy.”
“My first love,” Jace gasped. “My first and only love.”
“And what else, sweet boy?”
“I'm yours. I belong to you, only you.”
“That’s it, Jace. My good boy.”
Her prince whimpered at the pleasure, his hips moving harder, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. Rhaenyra could see her boy falling further and further, letting down his defenses in front of her, giving in to what she needed at that moment: her boy, willing and submissive. Her most precious toy. The boy she would soon lock away in a tower to take again and again.
Her coddled princeling.
“You want me to fuck you, my boy?”
Jace nodded as he let out a moan, ruined in front of his queen.
“Tell your mother, Jace. You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, mother!” her boy moaned. “Fuck me. Ride me.”
Jace nearly came as his mother buried her cunt into him, feeling his back arch in pleasure as his hands gripped his mother's hips. She rode him the same way she rode Harwin, brutally and unrestrainedly, marveling at the lust mirrored in her son and his senseless moans, losing herself completely in the pleasure lodged in her womb. Rhaenyra moaned as the head hit her sweet spot, clenching around her son's cock in pleasure as she moved more vigorously, taking both of their breaths away.
"Does it feel good, my boy?"
“It's perfect, mother,” Jace stammered, drunk with pleasure. “I love it. I love you.”
She pulled on the chain to bring him closer to her face and kissed his lips, never stopping the movement of her hips, up and down against his cock. Her firstborn kept a tight grip on her waist, trying to anchor himself to something, to her. And the queen herself was close to her peak, to her release.
"Give me your seed, Jace," Rhaenyra moaned against his lips, in a frenzy of desire. "Give me your heir, I will give you a son to care for, a brother just for you."
"Ah!"
"You want that, my sweet boy?"
"Oh! Yes! Yes, mother!" Jace sobbed, imagining his mother pregnant again, but with his child. His hand began to touch his mother's clit. "Please...please give it to me. I want Luke back."
Rhaenyra came in that instant, digging her fingers into her son's hair, moaning so loud she thought all of Dragonstone would hear it. Her walls clamped down on Jace's cock, causing him to cum as well in a mess of tears and sweat, his seed staining his mother's walls, penetrating her womb with his strong seed. His face grimaced in pain, his mouth open and his cheeks wet with tears, making his queen fall even more in love with him. Jace panted, exhausted and well sated, falling back onto his mother's sheets from the most intense orgasm of his life.
The queen, as soon as she had caught her breath, pressed her hand over her boy's sweaty forehead, brushed away several stray hairs from his face.
Jace whimpered as she pulled away from him, his soft cock falling to the side of his stomach. Rhaenyra felt her son's seed dripping down her crotch, going to waste instead of being lodged inside her. She removed the golden chain from his collar to set it aside, ready to clean him off so he could succumb to a deep sleep. A rag wiped his legs, chest, and neck. Jace sighed at the attention, asleep in the sheets with his mother's scent.
Where he truly belonged.
She joined him later, pulling him against her chest, letting her own exhaustion carry her away.