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Of his time in King’s Landing, Lucerys could recall little. Some lingered, blurred faces and the scent of fresh lemon cakes— but the sea remained, stark and vivid in the threads of his memory.
Blackwater Bay was not known for its beauty. Its waters were dark and murky, thick with brine and choked with the waste and chamber pots emptied from the crowded city above. On windy days, the sour scent would travel to the smallfolk’s noses. Lucerys swore that at times, it even travelled through the windows of the Red Keep’s nursery.
Driftmark was nothing like that.
Here, the waves danced like silver beneath the sun, glittering as they rose and cresting into foam as white as the high summer clouds. Clean salt clung to the breeze like perfume, and gulls squawked joyfully as they flew between masts, settling upon polished wood and colourful sails.
It was no wonder, then, that Lucerys Velaryon spent most of his days upon the docks.
It had started out as a duty. His grandfather would plant him down on the docks and told him to talk. A ploy to work the boy out of his shy nature while also building relationships and trust with the people who would one day look to him as lord.
Lord Corlys’ plan had worked a little too well, and soon enough, he had himself an heir who spent more time skipping along the pier, with the wind in his curls, than seated with his septons in the dark wooden library of Driftmark’s halls.
Nobody begrudged his presence, after all, it had been they who’d granted him the moniker of Pearl, and nobody treasured such stones more than men of the sea.
The dockhands gave him sweets smuggled from Braavos, the older sailors bowed low as they passed, some even kissing his hand with their wind-sore lips, and even the gruffest captains softened their scowls in his presence.
Even the crabs scuttling at the pier’s edge, having escaped the tray they’d been brought in, seemed to pause whenever Lucerys leaned down to squint at them.
“Try this one, my prince.” The man urged, his wrinkled face split into a wide grin. The silver charms sewn within his braids glittered as he moved, pushing a fresh oyster into his hands.
The boy startled, his brown curls fluttering as he turned to face the man. He’d been busy listening to the murmured conversations happening around them. About the rising prices of lemons and oranges, how the ropes brought in from the stormlands were of degrading quality each time they arrived.
Lucerys wrinkled his nose, peering down at the funny little piece of meat nestled within its shell. The man demonstrated himself how to eat it. Sprinkling lemon and red sauce before tilting it in his mouth. The princeling replicated it and immediately made a face at the slimy sensation of it sliding down his throat, as well as the bitter, briny taste, causing him to recoil.
“Seven help me,” he said, tongue peeking out in disgust as though the foul aftertaste would somehow lift from his taste buds.
“Why would anyone ever eat that?” He said, a breathless smile upon his face as the man and his wife, busy behind him shucking more oysters to place upon the chipped ice, broke out into laughter.
A sailor passing by chucked, a deep, rasping sound. He was not from Westeros, clearly, his bright blue beard a sign of his Tyroshi heritage. The man was sunbrowned, with one golden hoop in his ear and ink curling up his arm. “Oh, there are many reasons one might eat an oyster, little princeling,” he said, and winked.
Lucerys' brown eyes widened as he blinked. “Like what?”
The sailor only laughed louder, clapping another on his back as he leaned in to mutter something in his ear, a lecherous smirk playing at his mouth. The fisherman’s wife gave the man a swat with her towel.
Before Luke could press the matter, the horn sounded. aAlow groaning call across the sea that made the hair upon his neck and arms rise, as well as stealing the attention of all those who walked upon the wooden planks of the pier.
A ship was coming in.
A usual occurrence, had it not been for the sheer magnificence of her.
Lucerys straightened, a hand coming up to shield his brown eyes from the sun, although he did not need to do so for long.
She was a beast of a ship. Sailing in dark and ominous, she cast a shadow amongst the pier, turning the blue water as dark as that of the blackwater bay. Dark wood with sails as black as the void, a golden kraken glimmering in the sunlight, stippling in the wind and making each tentacle look as though it were a real, living thing.
“The iron born,” one of the sailors muttered, with an edge of awe and a hint of begrudgement. Lucerys felt his heart pick up. He’d heard many tales of the ironborn, with their black sails and golden masts.
His grandsire and Kepa had remarked many times about how they’d been key to their win in the stepstones. There was no one more violent, less afraid of death at sea, than those who hailed from the Iron Islands.
“That’ll be Lord Dalton’s ship himself, I’d wager. You can tell by the figurehead. The golden mermaid, with a mane of pearls.”
Lucerys tilted his head, brown eyes alight with interest. His tunic was a pale lavender today, the silver seahorse embroidery a staple on all his clothes, be they pants or dresses. A small cluster of pearls had been braided into his curls by his aunt’s careful hands that morning. His accidental matching hairstyle with the figurehead of Dalton’s ship made him smile.
It was a shame that it was shaded. Lucerys imagined it must be beautiful when the sun shines upon it, sending the pearls into a shiny multitude of colours.
The prince moved away from the stall with iced oysters and yellow banners. Instead, he joined the crowd that had gathered at the edge of the pier, beside the stone walls and wrought iron lamp poles.
He watched, enraptured by the ship’s arrival as he propped his chin upon his forearms, leaning upon one of the higher pillars. The stone was cool beneath his fingertips, and he tapped them against it, in rhythm with the groaning of the ship as it approached.
Shouts began to sound from the docks as thick ropes flung off the edge, caught by quick, young pier boys who began to pull and tie them around poles. It needed many of them to pull in safely.
It was only then that Lucerys noticed the damage done to the ship, planks torn and snapped on the side, leaving a gaping hole in the hull.
Many descended off the ship, some bearing crates and sacks. Others laughed and clapped the backs of others who arrived to greet them just at the edge. Some were injured, requiring the help of others to disembark.
Lucerys shifted, averting his eyes as he saw a few pull off their tunics, exposing their bare chests to the sun.
“Is that the Rogue Prince?”
“Without a doubt, I heard they became close at the Stepstones.”
“Is it true that Greyjoy and he lived off crabs?”
“ Well—“
Lucerys tuned their words out. He’d been subject to many of his mother’s uncles' tales throughout the years, often accompanied by his grandfather’s booming voice, who would retell the same ones with even more embellishment. He knew certainly well that they had eaten crabs. To this day, his grandfather could not stomach another.
He watched as the silver-haired prince moved down the pier, his sword at his hip, although judging by his warm expression, Lucerys doubted that he would make use of it.
Dalton Greyjoy laughed from the deck, his long brown locks over one shoulder and moving softly with the wind. He was tall, that much Lucerys could tell. But he could make out little else from this distance.
One sailor, broad and shaven with a voice so loud it made the prince jump, laughed as he watched the two embrace, sharing twin smirks.
“I bet he’ll be returning to Pyke with not just a repaired ship.”
Lucerys shifted now, turning to watch as the man nudged his friend in the ribs. The other laughed, exposing a shiny golden tooth. He looked up towards the docks and then back down, continuing to twirl his rope, working it into a neat loop.
“You think he’ll take a salt wife?”
“With how many pretty things there are on Driftmark? He might even take two.” They muttered jokes between themselves, young faces handsome as they tilted sunbrowned necks towards the docks.
“What’s a salt wife?” Lucerys asked, tilting his head innocently. His voice was as soft and curious as a bird's song.
The words struck the two sailors like a whip, instantly paling and sharing panicked glances. The one with the golden tooth nearly dropped the rope he’d been holding, letting out a curse as he managed to save it.
“Ah-nothin’, Your Grace!” The man sputtered, his posture instantly straightening as he placed his hands behind his back, dipping into an exaggerated bow.
“Just a sailor’s joke, truly sweet Prince,” the bearded man stammered, his eyes wide with horror.
Another man approached, gruff with long hair like seaweed. Lucerys recognised him, Alton Celtigar, the younger brother of the Lord Celtigar, although he was said to be far fiercer. He approached the two panicked young sailors and slapped his large hands upon their shoulders, ignoring the way the two of them flinched as he leered into their faces, casting slow looks between them.
“Fools talk coming from the bottom of the barrel. That’s all. Nothing worth your hearing. Forgive them.” Celtigar hummed, sending a smile Luke’s way. It was awkward, evident that he didn’t smile often, but Lucerys found it sweet and sent one of his own back.
When he looked away, ducking his head back down to look at the two sailors, his voice lowered.
“Mind your mouth,” he hissed, cuffing one of them on the ear and swatting him on the back of the head.
Lucerys blinked again, soft lashes fluttering. He nodded gently. “It’s quite all alright,” he said gently, letting none of his frustration show. It was not often that he was denied. Often, the sailors would race to be the first to assist him, to teach him.
They would sing of the most elaborate tales at sea, speak of mystical creatures with glimmering scales and claws as sharp as knives, yet their lips were sealed about a wife made of salt. He wondered why it was that he was always treated this way. The dockhands would regularly jest with Jace about crude matters only to go tight-lipped whenever Lucerys approached.
Before anything else could be said, light footsteps approached.
Laena emerged from the gathered crowd, arms full of parcels and a scarf wrapped around her tight curls, one which Lucerys had not noticed her wearing this morning when they had left for the docks. She smiled, radiant and warm, her blue and gold dress fluttering. “There you are, little dragon. I turn around one moment to buy you figs, and you’re halfway down the docks, charming sailors.”
Lucerys’ cheeks turned pink, suddenly all too aware of the soft smiles he was receiving. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested.
“No, you never do,” she teased fondly.
Then she turned, lilac eyes finally taking in the scene before her. The young sailors looked properly ashamed now, and Alton eyed them, as though daring them to say another one of their ‘sailor’s jokes’.
She stepped closer to Lucerys, tone light with curiosity, and she gently adjusted a curl that had fallen into his eyes.
“Well then, what did happen here?” She looked pointedly towards the sight of the three sailors.
“Nothing,” he said, wringing his fingers. “I only asked a question.”
His Aunt raised a perfect, silver brow, and her lips quirked into a soft smile. She knew Lucerys could not resist her for long; he was far too sweet to keep any secrets. She stepped closer, brushing her thumb against his cheek, which was now flushed a slight pink.
He sighed, suddenly shy despite still having little idea what the phrase meant. “I only asked what a salt wife was.”
Laena froze, her lashes fluttering as she stared at him, eyes roaming all across his face. Her lips parted, but no words left them at first.
“Oh,” she said after a beat, her voice shocked. “Oh,” she repeated again, this time sounding oddly delighted, her cheeks splitting as she grinned widely, exposing the very same dimples Lucerys saw all too often upon his cousins. “I see.”
Before the prince could ask just what she’d seen, the sound of heavy boots and jangling of metal chains sounded out from behind.
Coming up towards them and sending the nearby sailors scattering was Daemon. The sword upon his hip was shining as he stopped, placing both hands upon its bejewelled pommel. Beside him was Dalton Greyjoy.
He was handsome, Lucerys noted. His thighs shuffled together as he took in the Lord Reaper’s wavy hair and bright blue eyes. The man’s silver chains stood out against his browned chest, something Lucerys noted easily due to the way the man had left the first few buttons of his tunic and undershirt undone.
The Red Kraken was exactly as he’d seemed in his uncle's stories. Tall and broad-shouldered with countless pockets and knives slid into his leather belt, the scent of the sea clinging to him, as though his leather tunics and embroidered sleeves had been soaked in it.
Lucerys flushed the moment their eyes met. Soft pink hues high upon his cheekbones, a warmth beneath his skin that not even the soft breeze could help cool. Lucerys had to remind himself to breathe, the small prince turning dizzy as blue eyes ran slowly up and down his frame.
“Ah,” the man drawled, his voice low and husky, roughened from days at sea, barking orders towards his crew. His grandsire had once told him that the fiercest sailor was the one with the rawest voice. "And who’s this little sea sprite?”
Lucerys said nothing; his tongue felt as heavy as a stone. His mouth was dry too, his tongue sticking uncomfortably to his teeth and the roof of his mouth.
The prince had never felt so dim-witted.
Dalton smirked as he crossed his arms across his chest, the movement pulling at his salt-worn leathers. His eyes turned lazily over to Daemon, who stood stiff beside him now, all his earlier amusement having drained, leaving only a pale face that had gone sour and pinched. The corners of his mouth twitched, as though he was holding back whatever he wished to say.
“Yours?” Dalton asked, blue eyes alight with mischief as he cast his gaze back to the side, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of Lucerys for even one moment. They were almost like sapphires, Lucerys noticed. He did not own many sapphire jewels.
“My niece’s,” Daemon bit back, jaw sharp. Lucerys could hear Laena’s soft sound of amusement.
The man whistled, a sharp sound that pierced through the salt air. Lucerys felt it in his gut, his heart hammering like a trapped bird. He’d had admirers before. Noble youths who could not meet his eye, brave knights who valued themselves as his personal guards while they visited, even smallfolk who would stammer compliments from behind market stalls, blushing as they passed fruits and brushed fingers. But he’d never had anything like this, never someone as brazen as the Ironborn sailor who appeared entirely uncaring of Lucerys’ flushed face.
“No one told me Driftmark’s little princeling had grown quite so pretty,” he slapped Daemon upon the back, laughing at the man’s visible annoyance as he continued. “I would have come sooner had you told me.”
“The last time you were here, he was just a boy,” Daemon growled. Lucerys’ eyes widened slightly; he could not recall a previous meeting, and some part of him mourned that he did not.
“One whose cheeks you pinched and bounced upon your knee.” The silver prince continued, his expression growing even more disgruntled as he took in how the Lord Reaper did not back off upon his words.
For Lucerys, the reminder that the man was old enough to have known him as a child made him shuffle and squeeze his legs together.
Dalton merely shrugged at the comment, as though it hardly mattered now that Lucerys was no longer a child below the age of five. With a hand still upon Daemon’s shoulder, he looked at Lucerys before his grin widened, showing teeth that gleamed like the pointed ones creatures beyond the narrow sea were said to have. His canines were sharper, pointier than most, a detail Lucerys was only able to note due to their decreased distance as the man walked towards him.
His boots echoed against the stone, silver jangling as he walked with an easy sort of confidence. The prince felt his breath hitch in his throat as a scarred, tanned hand reached out. Palm facing upwards and just within Lucerys’ reach.
Lucerys hesitated only for a moment, his hand lifting before curling back into his chest. He met Dalton’s gaze, who only inclined his head and winked.
He placed his own, smaller and paler, onto it and felt his stomach squirm as Dalton’s fingers curled around his hand and brought it to his lips.
“A pleasure to meet you, my prince,” he murmured, breath warm against the smooth skin of Luke’s fingers.
Lucerys’ lips parted, but no sound came out. Dalton’s eyes did not leave his once, staring down at him from half-lidded eyes.
“They call you the pearl, do they not?” Dalton asked, still holding his hand. He tilted his head, brown waves falling. “Seems a fitting name.”
Luke nodded shyly. Brown eyes darted around shakily as he tried to find something to talk about, anything to take the man’s attention off of him. If he were the sole subject of it for much longer, he feared he would run away.
“I,” he hesitated, tongue escaping his mouth to wet his lips. “I like your ship.”
Dalton grinned. “Oh, do you now, sweetling?” He nodded in its direction, finally letting go of the prince’s hand, only for his hand to snake around Lucerys’ arm, spinning him to look towards the ship.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he pointed out towards it, silver rings glinting in the sun. “Sleek and sharp, never a single ship that's been able to outrace her.”
Lucerys giggled softly, finding the childish boast and glee that spread on the man’s face and voice amusing.
“The figurehead is rather lovely,” Lucerys agreed.
“Yes, the pearls shine quite nicely.” Dalton nodded, looking at him from the corner of his eyes, lips curling up into an amused smile. “Although I realise now that some adjustments have to be made to her.”
Lucerys opened his mouth again, intent on replying, but he was quickly interrupted.
“That’s enough, Greyjoy,” Daemon’s voice cut through the air as sharp as the gleaming blade that sat upon his hip.
The Red Kraken only chuckled. Rolling his shoulders back as he turned his neck to look behind him, although his hand remained wrapped around Lucerys’ arm.
“Come on now, Daemon,” he drawled towards his old friend. “You already know I’ve got my favourites, I’m only playing.”
Daemon laughed, his smirk returning as his voice took on a suggestive tone. “Shall I take you to visit them, then?” The implication sat heavy in the air, and Lucerys’ hand reached up to clutch at his elbow, nervously gripping at the fabric of his tunic.
“Perhaps,” Dalton allowed, though his thumb was drawing slow circles against the prince’s arm, a motion so subtle that Daemon did not notice. As the Ironborn lord turned to look back at him, Lucerys thought he did not appear keen to leave either.
A soft laugh joined them from behind. “Is that where my husband intends to spend his evening?” Laena asked, stepping forward with an arched brow. Her elbow wound around Lucerys’, and with a gentle nudge of her fingers, Dalton’s hand fell away.
“I will be entertaining no one,” Daemon replied without missing a beat.
“He will just be sitting in the chair,” Dalton whispered conspiratorially towards Laena, leaning towards her with a roguish grin spreading across his face. “Like always,” a wink followed.
A small smile played on Luke’s lips, the boy amused at the banter, even if the implications of their words made his stomach squirm and his blood warm.
Daemon appeared unbothered, his hair blowing in the wind and a soft smile playing upon his lips. “You know it is my preferred spot, my Laena.”
“That I do,” Laena said, a knowing twinkle in her eye as they exchanged looks. There was a secret there, something that amused all three of them. Something which Lucerys had no knowledge of. It seemed there were a great many things he did not know, what an unfortunate thing for everyone that he had always been a curious boy.
“I hope you two enjoy yourselves then.”
She made a move to leave, already beginning to turn until her husband spoke up, suddenly stepping forward and crowding in front of the two. His broad form stopped them from moving entirely. Lucerys cast a nervous glance towards his aunt, but she did not seem phased.
Not even at the way his uncle’s brow was ticked, face stern. “Not just yet. We’ll see you and Lucerys safely to Driftmark first.”
Laena gave a small, graceful shake of her head. Silver curls moved about her shoulders like molten silk. She placed her hand upon her husband’s chest, an action which worked to soften him.
“Not yet, there’s one more thing I wish to buy before we return.” Her eyes were bright now, cheeky as she glanced towards Lucerys. She tucked a curl behind his ear before continuing.
“And I need my sweet Lucerys to help me choose.”
Daemon’s mouth twisted, as though warring within himself on whether he should let them go or force them to return to Driftmark. Something about the way he kept glancing back at Dalton told Lucerys that the Lord Reaper was likely a reason for his hesitation.
But still, the prince knew he had no hope in holding his wife back from a decision she’d already been sent on. He inclined his head in assent and moved out of the way. Dalton walked up beside him as they watched the two leave, already beginning to murmur things beneath their breath.
Laena moved quickly, her mind clearly already fixated on a certain object. Lucerys had no choice but to follow, his body pulled along by their still intertwined elbows.
Despite the sun that was suddenly in their eyes and the distraction of many different stall owners calling out for their attention all at once, Lucerys found his mind still stuck on the Lord Reaper of the Iron Islands.
His skin tingled, his heart hammered, and he felt his neck twitch with the urge to turn around.
When he did, brown curls blowing into his eyes, the wind having turned, he was met with blue ones staring right back at him.
His uncle was chattering away, already trying to direct Dalton somewhere, to the brothels, no doubt, if Lucerys had understood their earlier conversation correctly.
But Dalton wasn’t following.
Instead, he was still watching, still smiling that sharp, knowing smile that made Luke’s cheeks burn all over again.
“Lucerys?”
The prince jolted up from where he’d been staring beneath the table. Eyeing the shiny new chain that wrapped around his ankle.
The present that his aunt had bought him, the one she’d insisted on returning to the markets for.
She did not interfere with his choice, although she nodded in amused approval as he selected one of alternating, linked pearls and sapphires. Lucerys did not know why he’d been so drawn to it. Nor did he know what possessed him to wear it to this dinner.
“Yes, grandsire?” Luxury turned towards Corlys, who sat high-backed at the head of the table, in the elaborate turquoise cushioned chair he always favoured. He had dressed in his best, all the elaborate jewelled charms woven into his silver twists. It couldn’t have been at the behest of his grandmother, for she was away. Dining with one of Driftmark’s vassal houses. The lady of Driftmark had taken Baela and Rhaena with her, leaving Lucerys with no agemates of his own.
“It’s quite all right if Lord Greyjoy sits beside you, isn’t it?” Corlys asked. Although his voice was warm, ensuring Luke knew he was within his rights to object, Lucerys knew enough about courtly manners and the fondness in his grandsire's eye as he looked behind him, to know better.
Lucerys glanced at the chair beside him and then looked up. Dalton stood at his side, ringed fingers resting upon the back of his own, empty chair. But his eyes were on Luke, blue eyes bright and flickering in the glow of the candlelight.
The prince felt the metal resting upon his ankle itch.
He nodded wordlessly, looking down at his lap and pretending to smooth out the wrinkles of his fine gown, although there were none; his handmaids had ensured multiple times there weren’t.
The sailor smiled, as though he’d already known the boy’s answer and had begun to sit before he’d even received it. He moved with more grace than Lucerys expected, as he smoothly slid into his chair and reached for his goblet, a serving girl already making rounds and filling them to the brim with wine.
Lucerys’ was only filled halfway.
Soft chatter soon swelled around them, as smooth and intimate as the gentlest of waves. They all knew each other well, Lucerys realised as he watched his uncle and Dalton exchange light-hearted jests and his grandsire pausing his eating in order to give the Ironborn Lord his full attention as he discussed the recent storms and ‘trade routes’, a topic which earned a hearty laugh from his aunt Laena as she asked if he truly meant to say ‘raids’.
It was nice, the low hum of laughter and spiced wine serving to fill him with warmth from his cheeks to his toes.
At one point, Dalton reached for the plate of roasted pig, pre-sliced, and its shiny skin glistening. His arm brushed Lucerys’ sleeve, having needed to reach over the small prince in order to wrap his fingers around the serving fork.
“You still smell like the sea,” Lucerys said, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly. The words seemed to leave his mouth before he could mull over them. Had he had a bit less wine, he did not think he would have said them.
Dalton tilted his head towards him, amused as he placed the pork on his plate before leaning in, his lips just brushing Luke's ear. “And you smell like lilies and lemons,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only Lucerys could hear it. Lucerys quickly looked back down at his plate, moving around vegetables and cutting up chicken. But his cheeks betrayed him, tinged with the faintest bit of pink.
He did not know how the sailor could appear so unaffected. His every move made Lucerys feel strange. Sensations and emotions he’d never felt before were being heightened by the wine and rich food, and for a moment, Lucerys felt as though he was drowning in it.
Dalton, however, just leaned back and began engaging in easy conversation with his grandsire.
Perhaps it came with age, Lucerys mused, taking a deep breath to calm his shaking fingers.
“The damage to her hull should be mended by tomorrow,” Corlys reassured Dalton, who did not appear all too worried about the length of repairs. What did it matter when he was on his third cup of wine and appeared all too warmed by the company of friends and succulent food.
But some souls could only be satisfied with those pleasures for a night or two at most. The sparkle that entered the Kraken’s eye upon the mention of his ship told Lucerys all he needed to know about where the man’s true love lay.
“It is why I made anchor here, after all. Your harbour men work as fast as they do skillfully.” He nodded, his grin giddy and his fingers dancing, as though he already couldn’t wait to be back out on the waves. Lucerys wondered if he would be like that someday, more at home upon waves than stone.
Corlys smiled broadly, his back straightened as he rolled his shoulders. His grandfather was an easy person to please, especially if one were to praise him or his men. Driftmark was his pride after all.
“Although,” his grandsire started, his voice full of warmth and the affection that came with a long-time friend. “Should it need longer, you are always welcome at Driftmark. The hearths of our halls always remain lit for good friends.”
Dalton inclined his head in acknowledgement. He seemed oddly touched by the comment, his lips twisting into a genuine smile and not one of his favoured smirks.
Before he could reply, however, Lucerys’ voice piped up.
“Why couldn’t you simply take another’s ship?” the boy asked, his voice softly earnest and his brown eyes bright as they became fixed on Dalton. He could not understand it; the servants of Driftmark had been gossiping all afternoon about the great treasures lying beneath the Red Kraken’s deck. Was it not dangerous to leave it lying in the bay for so long?
Corly's gaze flicked to his grandson, indulgently letting his pearl partake in conversation with others, rather than answering the question for himself.
“Oh sweetling,” the Lord reaper said, the word rolling wickedly upon his tongue. It was practised, a pet name that left his mouth often, no doubt. “It’s bad luck to sail under another man’s banner. Especially when you’d be leaving your own behind.” Then, with a sly curl to his mouth and a gaze that scanned him entirely, he said, “Although your grandsire has a ship in your name, does he not?”
“Aye,” Corlys interrupted. Toasting his cup of wine towards the pair before taking a long swig. “The little pearl, my pride and joy.”
Dalton looked between Corlys and Lucerys. “Perhaps riding that ship,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in. “Would bring me only the greatest of luck and the sight of its figureheads, the sweetest of dreams.”
Lucerys' cheeks warmed, the figurehead had been modelled after him. He busied himself with straightening the napkin in his lap, but the faint upturn of his mouth betrayed him, and he found himself fumbling shyly with the pearl necklace resting upon his collarbone.
“That’s a nice piece,” Dalton said, long fingers reaching out to grasp the dainty necklace. Their fingers met for a moment before Lucerys pulled away quickly, instead grasping his silken, lilac skirts while the ironborn man rolled the charm between the pads of his fingers. “Did you get it at the markets?”
His aunt hummed. “Not that I recall,” she trailed off thoughtfully, purple eyes squinting as she looked. She seemed amused, especially by the way Dalton had still not let go of the necklace.
“Unless he bought it prior to when I arrived. There was a crowd of sailors, spreading tales of Ironborn traditions,” she said, mockingly raising a brow at Dalton. His uncle seemed too out of it now to pay much attention, too focused on twisting one of his wife’s curls around his finger.
Corlys chuckled, shaking his head as he looked back at Luke. “You know better than to listen to those rough-tongued sailors, I’m sure.”
Lucerys nodded hesitantly, reaching up to curl his fingers around the golden chain around his neck. The ironborn seemed to get the hint and let go of the necklace.
But his elbow then came to rest beside Lucerys, the man twisting entirely to face him.
Dalton’s brow arched in mock curiosity. “Oh? And what tales were they telling, then?”
Lucerys hesitated, glancing between his grandfather, who was now distracted, criticising his uncle for having drunk too much, and between his aunt, who only nodded encouragingly, with an odd gleam in her eyes.
“That you’d take a salt wife,” he admitted, shyly looking up at Dalton from beneath dark lashes. He felt silly the moment the words left his mouth. How could he not? He still had no idea what they meant.
Dalton’s laugh was rich and unrestrained, earning a glance from Daemon, whose eyes were too blurred with drink to make any real discernments about the conversation. His grandsire’s face, however, grew dark and stormy, his brows knitting together.
“I know well enough not to take any salt wives from Driftmark.” His grin sharpened. “Although a few pretty faces have made me consider a Westerosi marriage,” he hummed, eyes not leaving the prince’s face once.
Daemon let out a sharp bark of laughter while Laena giggled uncontrollably into her cup, attempting to hide her delighted face from her father, whose expression had hardened so severely that he seemed reminiscent of the Sea Snake whispered about in the stories. Not the one who lavished Luke in affection and beautiful silks, but the one who ordered heads to be removed without even so much as a look of guilt.
“Careful, Greyjoy. A son, I may consider you, but it is a reality I do not wish to consider.”
Dalton raised his hands in mock surrender, although his grin never wavered.
“It is merely a jest, Corlys. You know I’d not dare take a Salt-Wife from Driftmark… though I confess,” he leaned towards Lucerys, until his tunic was brushing against the pearled sleeve of his gown. “A true Westerosi wife, all prim and proper, might suit me just as well.”
“Oh, please, Father. You know Lucerys is expected to marry soon. I don’t doubt you’ve received many offers.”
Lucerys blinked, startled. Something in his stomach rolled at the thought, and his fork paused above his plate, trembling slightly in his hand. “Marry?” he echoed faintly, although no one seemed to catch it.
Corlys’ mouth tightened. “Not yet,” he said firmly. “The boy is still too young.”
Dalton chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “And who are these lucky suitors then?” he asked, tone teasing and full of mirth. “The only lords in the seven kingdoms who don't piss themselves at the thought of offering for the hand of the sea snake’s grandson?”
Laena listed off a few names, to which Lucerys listened eagerly. He had not been made aware of who was officially being considered for his hand. And despite his grandsire's jests, he knew a marriage would be made for him soon. He’d flowered only two years past. Most maidens were married off after only one.
He sighed in relief when Targaryen was not one of the names in the pool.
Dalton, however, scoffed at each one. The Kraken was clearly opinionated and much more knowledgeable of the mainland than Lucerys would have thought.
“A Hightower? Drowned Gods, the boy would be reading pages from ‘The Faith of the Seven’ until his hair turned the exact shade of silver the King’s new wife is always whining about.”
He leaned back, chuckling in disbelief. “And a Stark? Poor thing. I’ve heard they are so droll that one is better off talking to a stone. And that they have icicles for,” his eyes caught on Lucerys, and his words stopped, tongue swiping against his mouth. “Well-,” he made a crude motion which had even the serving girls biting their lips to hide their giggles.
Lucerys’ cheeks burned a deep crimson, lashes lowering as he ducked his head, loose curls falling into his view.
Corlys shook his head in mock disapproval. “And am I to believe the Ironborn make better husbands?” He said, raising his goblet to his mouth, although his amusement was evident from over the rim, and his lack of disagreement towards Dalton’s comments was answer enough.
Dalton’s eyes widened, a perfect picture of innocence, his shoulders loose and relaxed as he looked around the table. “You need only ask our salt wives to see how… attentive we are.”
Laughter rang out from all ends of the table. Loud, raucous ones from Daemon and soft, disbelieving chuckles from his grandsire.
Lucerys’ soft voice managed to break through it. “I still don’t know what a salt wife is.” The confession was almost mournful, somewhat petulant, like a child excluded from the joke due to a mere lack of understanding.
His grandsire’s amusement faded instantly. He reached across, grasping Lucerys’ hand in his. “Do not trouble your pretty head with such things, my pearl. They are for sailors with not an ounce of decorum,” Dalton squawked, briefly stealing Lucerys’ attention, but his grandsire squeezed his hand, forcing his eyes back. “You are above such things. A salt wife is far above your station, and that is all you must know.”
His tone was warm yet filled with finality. Lucerys knew the meaning behind that tone far too well; it meant the topic was done, and he was not to question it any longer.
Dalton, meanwhile, had gone silent. His smirk lingered, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. He stared at Luke now as though savouring the young boy’s innocence. Even as he tipped his head back to catch the last few droplets of drink, his blue eyes never left him once.
The talk drifted then. The moment of mischief and hinted debauchery drifted away, replaced by topics of lighter content. A story Daemon told of a lord from lands far away, and as a consequence, had confused him for the king. Soon the hall was once again full of merriment, full bellies and faces soft with drowsy smiles.
And yet as the last dishes were cleared away and servants swept in to gather the plates, Lucerys still wore the smallest of pouts, his lips pursed and frustrated.
No one ever denied him anything. In truth, his family gave him more than he’d ever asked for, always too shy to outright ask and yet now, the one time he wishes to know something, no one tells him.
No one noticed it either.
Everyone else rose with smiles. Laena was too busy helping her drunken, stumbling husband up from his chair, who was truly no help. Daemon was leaning heavily upon her arm, trying to place sloppy kisses upon her cheeks, ones which she feigned frustration at.
His grandsire had quickly excused himself to bed and requested one of the servants to call the maester for him, citing an ache in the stomach. Lucerys had offered to tend to him, but he’d been waved off with a kiss to his hair and reassurance that he’d simply eaten too much chicken far too quickly.
Which left only him and their guest at the table.
As Dalton got up from his chair, he made sure to lean down, not quite touching his ear with his lips, but far enough that as Lucerys looked to the side, the man’s silver chains were swinging into his face in an almost hypnotising motion.
His breath was warm and sweet, tinged by the copious amounts of wine and his voice was pitched low, words designed for the prince’s ears alone.
“If you’re still curious about salt wives, sweetling,” Dalton murmured. “Come see me tonight and I’ll tell you all about them.”
Lucerys’ lips parted, his breath coming out in a tremor as his heart fluttered like a bird within his ribcage. For a moment, he thought the bones might break, and he’d be left struggling to breathe as well as fragments piercing his lungs.
When Dalton straightened and made his way out of the door that Daemon had just stumbled his way out of, Lucerys finally looked up.
Unlike earlier, Dalton did not turn to look back.
Lucerys remained seated, small hands curled in his lap, no doubt crinkling his gown. His eyes shouldn’t have lingered. The moment those words left the Ironborn man’s mouth, Lucerys should have said no.
Yet he had done nothing of the sort.
And he realised, as he sat there with only the distant clinking of plates as servants carried them off into the kitchens, that he felt no guilt, only the small flutter of butterflies in his stomach.
Lucerys lingered in the corridor for far longer than he’d intended, his soft slippers kicking at the stone floor. The torches burned low, although no shadows danced upon the walls except for his. There were no guards down these halls, although there typically were.
He was grateful for their absence however, had they been there, the iron seahorse embellished upon their armour would have compelled them to take him away, escort him back to his own quarters.
Without them, he could stay. Even walked further until he arrived at the heavy door to the room where he knew Dalton was staying, having seen maids carry all manner of towels and fruit bowls mere hours earlier.
His hand hovered over the iron door handle, retreating once, twice as his heart drummed against his ribs, loud enough he feared he might wake the whole keep. Finally, he gathered the courage to wrap his fingers around the circular handle and twist.
The chamber was cooler than his own, the firelight burning, but the pile of wood smaller. From the open windows, the smell of salt and the soft rush of waves crashing against rock drifted in.
Dalton sat on the edge of his bed, eyes closed as he softly swayed to the sound. His shirt was unfastened save for a few buttons at the bottom. The open collar left his chest bare, silver necklaces glinting and bronzed skin shining in the warm-toned light.
It was the soft rustling of Lucerys’ skirts that alerted Dalton to his presence.
His eyelids opened, revealing blue eyes that were already looking at Lucerys as though he were a long-sought-after piece of treasure.
A slow smile curved his mouth, lazy.
“You came,” Dalton murmured. “You really are quite the curious little thing.” He lifted a hand and waved Lucerys over, his posture opening in the way he’d always noticed Jace’s would whenever he’d accompany him hunting. It was the way that one would coax a timid creature into approaching.
He closed the door gently behind him and began his approach. The soft purple silk and golden embroidery glinted as he passed by each candle and the hearth. He suddenly felt very young as he came to a pause in front of Dalton, who now sat with his legs spread widely into the shape of ‘V’, a clear hint as to where Lucerys was supposed to stand.
He fidgeted as he did, standing in silence as his fingers twisted anxiously, unable to keep Dalton’s gaze for more than a few seconds.
Dalton’s hand reached out, fingers at first only brushing against the lace detailing of his sleeve, before he grasped him fully, large hand covering the boy’s wrist entirely.
His breath hitched as the man’s thumb caressed his pulse point, huffing as he felt just how quickly it was beating.
“You said you’d tell me,” Luke blurted softly, the cup of wine he’d taken before coming so as to dissipate his nerves had clearly worked a little too well and made his tongue loose.
Dalton did not seem to mind the impropriety, however. It rather seemed to amuse him, and he hummed, tugging gently at the laces joining his sleeve together around his wrist.
“You want to know what a salt wife is that badly, sweetling?” He murmured, voice low and heavy.
Luke shifted, his cheeks hot. It was clear to him now that a salt wife perhaps had an improper meaning. And yet he found himself desperate to know anyway.
“I… I only ask because—” Lucerys began, flustered as he felt the need to explain.
“Because your pretty little head is full of questions,” Dalton cut in, leaning a little closer. His thumb pressed harder now, digging into the soft skin of the prince’s wrist before he released it, brushing his knuckles up Lucerys’ arm as he stood to his full height, Luke now having to crane his neck to look up to him.
“A salt wife is no bride of the sept, little pearl.”
Luke’s cheeks went scarlet, his lashes fluttering as he shifted, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of wetness in his underclothes. The imagery made his belly coil tight and hot.
“It ain’t such a sweet tale,” he continued, gently brushing Luke's loose curls off his shoulder. “Perhaps not one meant for young princes like you. Salt wives are taken, not courted. She is his, whether she wishes it or not. Ironborn take what they want.” His voice dropped, almost a purr now.
Lucerys was not stupid, he knew that meant a wife of salt was more likely to warm their husband’s bed than to grace the halls alongside him.
He trembled. “And… you take them?”
Dalton’s laugh was low, dangerous. “Sweetling, I’ve had more wives under me than I’ve had ships.”
Lucerys shivered. The memory of Dalton at supper, proudly declaring to the hall that one need only ask a salt wife to see what a good husband the Ironborn make, flared suddenly in his mind. His lips parted.
“What is it like?” he asked, words spilling before he could hold them back. “To be one. To be a salt wife?” He clarified.
Dalton’s smile deepened now, wide and gleeful. From up this close, Lucerys could make out the way his eyes crinkled, soft little lines that came from age that only made his belly feel warmer.
“That depends,” he murmured, eyes burning like embers as they held Lucerys’ own. The prince couldn’t look away. “Some say it is rough, some say it is sweet. A good husband,” he drawled, fiddling once more with the chain clasped around Luke’s neck. “Manages to make it both.” He tilted his head, wolfish as he ran his eyes over Lucerys’ body.
“Do you want me to show you, little Velaryon?”
Lucerys’ heart thundered against his ribs. He hesitated, fingers curling up and gripping the edge of his sleeve. His eyes darted to the door nervously. He knew it was closed, had seen with his own eyes how empty the halls had been, and yet fear still hovered in the back of his mind, the thought that someone might hear them, could even take it upon themselves to burst in and catch them in the act.
What haunted him the most, however, was the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in bed, asleep, as untouched as he’d been the day he was born. That was his duty, the part he was meant to play for his family, to remain a maiden until a match was made for him.
But he just wanted to be like everyone else. To know what was whispered about, what his elder brother and the sailors would joke over. He only wanted to understand, to be like everyone else instead of so sheltered and naive.
Lucerys squirmed, lashes lowering as he gave a tiny nod.
“Good boy,” the lord reaper said, his voice husky as he began to make quick work of the prince’s gown, his fingers calloused but no less nimble as he undid all manner of ribbons, laces and pearl buttons in quick succession.
At the soft questioning sound that left Luke’s mouth, Dalton only chuckled, kissing just beside Luke’s ear. “Many wives make for lots of practice, little one.”
Soon, he was left in only his shift, and then, nothing at all.
Dalton leaned back slightly, gaze raking over him unabashedly, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Pretty thing,” he said, although his attentions made Luke squirm and cup his hands, attempting to cover himself with his extended arms, but Dalton only reached out and caught his wrists.
“Sit,” he said, motioning towards the bed.
Lucerys obeyed, perching himself on the edge of the mattress. He kept his thighs pressed together, his lashes lying low over flushed cheeks. He suddenly felt shy and so small under Dalton’s attentions, despite the quickly dampening sheets beneath him.
Although he’d just barely been dressed when Lucerys entered his room, Dalton still took his sweet time. Standing tall before Lucerys, he undid the silver buckle of his belt at his waist, the piece shaped like a squid. He thought it pretty, although his eyes quickly darted away once the man let his trousers fall, and pulled out his cock, already stiff and heavy. His shirt was quick to follow, revealing a tanned, solid chest, candlelight catching onto the lines of muscles born from years of fighting.
Luke’s thighs pressed tighter together, as though it would provide him with some ounce of modesty despite the visible bush of curls covering his cunt.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetling.”
Lucerys hesitated, fingers bunching up the blankets beneath him, but he soon obeyed, the motion awkward and shy.
Dalton groaned at the sight, the sound throaty, deep and unrestrained. He crawled onto the bed, gently pushing Luke back against the sheets as he loomed over him, caging him in between his thick arms and weight.
Lucerys trembled, unsure what to do with his hands as he lay there, staring up into Dalton’s eyes.
“Tell me,” Dalton murmured, his voice rough with want. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”
Luke shook his head, the movement small and barely there, his curls brushing against his flushed face. “No,” he whispered, biting his lip, a perfect picture of innocence mixed with lasting shame.
The man above him stilled, his face falling slightly as he studied him with a seriousness that seemed out of place upon his handsome face. A small frown pulled at his lips, and Lucerys opened his mouth, intent on asking what was wrong, but his face quickly fixed back into his roguish smile.
Dalton would not dare to take such a treasure, but there were other ways he could enjoy the sweet prince.
“Then let me show you.”
His hand lifted, brushing Luke's cheek before he took one of the prince’s smaller hands into his own. Without breaking eye contact, he guided it downwards.
Lucerys’ eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he felt the skin of his chest, of his stomach, pass below his fingertips, and eventually arrive at the heat between his thighs.
He gasped. His whole body went stiff as panic suddenly flooded him, the unfamiliar sensation, the area he’d never touched in such a way, stiffening, trying to pull back, but Dalton’s grip on his wrist only tightened, and his voice came out a low croon. “Shh,” he rumbled. “Don’t be afraid, little pearl. It’s okay, I’ll show you how to feel good.”
His rough finger curled around Lucerys’ slender ones, straightening up his clenched fist before bringing them back down. “Easy,” he murmured, as his larger hand covered Luke’s and pressed down. The touch made Lucerys jolt, his mouth falling agape as his fingers spread, taking in the new sensations of his slick, untouched pussy and the damp curls surrounding them.
Soft, little gasps left the prince’s pink lips as Dalton adjusted his hand, nudging against a small bundle of tissue that sent sparks down his spine.
“Good boy, just there,” he urged, his own voice strained and rough, eyes heated as he watched Lucerys intently, as though watching him become undone was more than enough for him. He pushed Lucerys’ fingers in slow circles, coaxing his little clit to swell beneath the prince’s trembling touch. Whenever Lucerys would whine that it was too much and try to pull away, his grip would tighten, keeping his wrist flush against his cunt.
He guided him through it with patient whispers. Telling him—and oftentimes moving their hands in tandem— when to circle, when to slide down again, when to press harder, all until Lucerys was trembling and wet beneath his own touch, the sheets damp beneath him.
A wet gasp escaped him, his back and muscles twitching as the pleasure began to swell, a sensation so unfamiliar that tears were already leaking from his brown eyes. He whimpered, clutching at Dalton with his free hand, wrapping it around his neck. The man kissed the corner of his mouth, murmuring low encouragements as he urged the boy to stroke faster.
“My sweet boy, come on. Let go. ”
He gave a broken little cry, his body arching, every muscle in his body tensing before he collapsed, crying and twitching, his hand falling quickly from his cunt once it became too much, the sensations quickly turning from overwhelming pleasure to an uncomfortable oversensitivity.
Dalton caught him easily, pressing him close, one hand stroking over his messy curls as Luke trembled, still twitching from the aftershocks of his very first orgasm. Every inch of skin felt alight, sensitive and hyperaware.
“Good job, Lucerys,” Dalton whispered, lips brushing the crown of his curls. “My lovely, little prince— now you know, don’t you?”
Lucerys hummed in assent, his eyes suddenly droopy as his mind turned fuzzy.
Dalton shifted, pulling his body away from where he’d been hovering above Lucerys. The prince felt the loss of warmth and body weight so greatly that he whined.
When he opened his eyes, still slightly blurry from tears, he could see the Ironborn sailor sitting up upon the edge of the mattress, rubbing a hand down his face with a low groan as though restraining himself.
Now he knew …
Lucerys propped himself up upon shaky elbows. “Was…was that it?” His voice was quiet and uncertain.
Dalton turned to him with one brow arched, his mouth curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not once did his eyes move from Lucerys’ face, despite the boy’s legs still being spread, small freckles forming a map towards his still glistening cunt.
“You’re a maiden, little pearl. What else would you have me do? I cannot take that from you, your grandfather would have my head.” His mouth twisted as he said the words. “And my cock,” he laughed, but it lacked all amusement.
The words stung, and he suddenly felt humiliated, lying there, having expected something that would not happen. He felt like a fool, and Lucerys Velaryon was tired of being made to feel like one.
He sat up fully now, tight curls falling about his flushed face, his brown eyes sparkled in the low candlelight, and his breathing was still ragged.
“But,” his voice cracked, and he winced at how young it made him seem. He hurried to swallow, hoping to give his dry throat a bit of moisture. “But you can.”
Dalton stilled, his eyes as sharp as a blade as he turned away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do,” Lucerys insisted, his voice trembling before he took a deep breath and shifted onto his knees, shuffling closer. The mattress hardly dipped below his weight, and the Ironborn didn’t even turn to look at him as he came to sit beside him, at least, not until he placed his shaking hands upon Dalton’s shoulders.
He turned slowly, long brown hair shifting across his back, his eyes didn’t leave Luke’s hand once, glued to the way his small hands, delicate and paler than his own skin, clutched his broad shoulder.
Lucerys clung to him, tilting his face upward, his lashes damp with yet unshed tears.
“Please,” he whispered, the desperation in his voice surprising even him. “Take it, please. I want it.”
Dalton's brows knit, his hand instinctively lifting to cover his own, to pause the boy’s restless fidgeting. The act only made Lucerys blush, for he recalled what Dalton had done, only minutes ago, with his hand resting upon the prince’s.
“You don’t understand, little pearl. A highborn maid like you is—”
“I’ve heard whispers,” Lucerys cut in, cheeks burning crimson as the man’s eyes met his. It took everything in him to hold the man’s gaze. “That highborn maids do not always bleed. Horse-riding and dancing… sometimes it breaks because of that. They say it is not so important anymore.”
Dalton sighed, his hands coming to rub at his knees. When it looked as though he might stand up, leaving the bed, and Lucerys, entirely, the boy plastered himself to the man’s back, arms wrapping around his bare chest, his fingertips just barely able to meet.
“I am nearly twice your age, little one.” Dalton sighed. He sounded exhausted, the words being dragged out of them as though. Every etiquette lesson he’d ever been to would have pointed at his tone as a sign for Lucerys to back off, to quit with his desperate pleas.
But Lucerys would not let up.
He only pressed himself closer, his wide eyes shining and soft lips turning into a stubborn pout. Lucerys ducked his head, burrowing it in the crook of Dalton’s neck.
“I don’t mind. I like it.” His voice was muffled, but no less insistent.
Dalton’s breath hitched. His voice came rough now, strained as though he was trying his best to convince not only Lucerys, but himself. “Your family will kill me, sweet thing.”
“I won’t tell them,” Luke murmured, his brown curls tickling against the sailor’s jaw. “They needn’t ever know.”
Dalton froze.
Still, the prince clung to him, with all the desperation of a drowning boy who would cling to the only piece of driftwood during a storm. “Please.” He whimpered, finally beginning to feel shame take over. He’d begged for so long, and still Dalton refused to take him. He wondered if he would ever be able to face the man again.
Luke could feel Dalton’s neck turn, could feel his skin prickle at the sensation of being watched. But he could only gather the courage to take a small peek at Dalton, his vision mostly obscured by the thick mass of dark curls. But still, he could make out the heatedness of his gaze, and the half-feral grin that had formed upon his face.
“You dangerous little thing,” he growled, breath hot against Luke’s ear. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
And before Luke could answer, his world flipped upon its axis. Slowly, but surely, he’d worn the elder man down until his restraint was something of the past, something that had snapped somewhere along the way, worn down by pretty words and a complete lack of virtue.
He moved with all the swiftness of a predator, in one movement, flipping the boy beneath him and grasping at his small frame to move him up the bed, until brown curls lay splayed over finely embroidered pillows.
Lucerys gave a startled gasp, his hands scrabbling for something to hold onto as his vision still blurred, dizzy with how quickly he’d been turned.
But he hardly gets time to grow accustomed to the change in position before a large hand is cupping his cheek, and suddenly lips are on his, and Dalton is kissing him.
The Ironborn kissed like it was second nature to him, an action so ingrained in his soul that he could do it without thinking.
It was the complete opposite of Lucerys, who froze up the moment he felt a damp tongue press against his lips, seeking entry that the prince was too shy to grant.
Dalton pulled away, barely. The skin of their lips was still hovering beside each other. “You don’t know how?” He murmured, smiling when he felt the prince’s rapid, gulping breaths, clear indicators of his inexperience.
“No,” Luke admitted in a broken whimper, suddenly feeling foolish for how desperate he’d been mere moments earlier. As his lashes fluttered, his mind ran through all of his past kisses. A grand total of two. Clumsy little things shared in old stables with the little Lordlings who’d visited with their fathers. Neither boy had ever kissed him for longer than a few seconds, much less tried to slip their tongue inside his mouth.
“Oh, little prince,” Dalton mumbled, breath hot against Luke's skin. “What am I to do with you?” He mumbled, pressing kisses down the length of his tanned throat. The older man’s scruff scratched against it, leaving him deliciously lightheaded.
This time, when his mouth attached itself to Lucerys’, Dalton guided him. He fixed his chin with his hand, so that the angle was no longer quite so awkward. He let Luke’s tongue explore his mouth first, dragging each kiss out until the younger was no longer quite so mortified by the sensation.
Soon, Luke tires of it. He gathers what courage he has, his voice soft but steady as he goads the older. “Teach me. Just like you said you would.”
That's all the invitation Dalton needed. His hand drifted lower, slotting between Luke's thighs with ease, nudging Luke’s thighs apart.
Luke gasped as Dalton’s large hand cupped his cunt, cool silver sharp against his skin, pressing his flushed face against the man’s tanned, freckled skin, breathing in deeply the scent of sea salt until it made his head spin. Even then, he only breathed harder and dug his nails into the man’s back, sharp enough for him to hiss lightly.
Dalton’s fingers find his clit without hesitation, stroking with a steady precision that Lucerys had little of. It’s different, faster and less clumsy, more skilful than anything Luke had done. His body jerks at the sensation, at the constant pressure that never once lets up.
The rhythmic strokes and circles the elder traced around his clit made his head roll back from the pressure. A sharp cry spilling out before he could bite it back. Dalton’s attentions were nothing like his own attempts earlier, which he now realised were clumsy and awkward.
Every sensation felt heightened, his pussy still so sensitive from his past orgasm that he was quickly whining, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. When Dalton changed the angle, catching a spot that made his nerves short-circuit and his eyes see stars, Lucerys couldn't stop his hand from flying down, clutching desperately at Dalton’s larger one, trying to force the motion to keep going.
“Ah, ah,” the man tutted, his thumb pausing now, pressing down upon his clit in a way that had Luke letting loose a sob. “I thought you wanted to learn how to be my salt wife, baby? You can’t be trying to boss me around now.”
Lucerys’ chest rose and fell quickly, each inhale catching in his throat, resulting in little hiccuping sounds. His lashes fluttered, damp from his teary eyes, as he tried to form words.
Dalton shifted closer, letting his teeth drag slowly and deliberately against the freckles along the prince’s neck, making him gasp, turning his head instinctively to allow the man more access.
“So you'll listen to me, won’t you?” Dalton cooed, his thumb remaining firm and steady against the prince’s clit. “You’ll let me teach you, just like you begged me to.”
The teasing sparks some sort of fire inside of him, a low heat that coils in his stomach until it begins to feel unbearable. He huffed, lips pouting and cheeks puffing slightly, as though his clear upset could do anything to make the man above him forget all about his damp thighs and his cunt that’s only grown wetter with each passing moment.
Dalton, for all that he talks to him like he’s a child, does not look at him like he’s one. His eyes are dark and sharp, burning like the heated coals found in the dragonpit as they rake over every inch of Lucerys. The younger boy squirms beneath it, unused to the strange thrill of being wanted so openly.
But some stubborn part of him wanted to push back, the spark the flame in hopes of setting him off.
“I could've asked someone else to help me.” Luke blurts, his voice sharp with confidence despite the tremble of his lips. The words were bold on his tongue, even if he knew he would have never dared such a thing. It was Dalton’s boldness that had forced him out of his shell, that awoke a desperation Lucerys had never once thought to act upon, not until Dalton had made his offer. Without it, Lucerys would have never come. But the thought still pleases him. The picture his brain formed, of one of the man’s rougher crewmates, all scars and muscles, touching him while Dalton watched from the shadows, eyes fixed and burning.
Dalton’s mouth curves into something not quite a smile. More like a wolf baring its teeth, his lip curling.
“They would have eaten you alive, sweetheart.” He murmurs, voice low and threaded with a kind of certainty that leaves little room for argument. Lucerys couldn’t anyway, not when the man’s thumb and pointer finger pinched. A calloused hand dragged from where it was gripping his thigh all the way to his mouth, hooking against his lips.
“And anyway,” he rasped, fingers pressing down upon his tongue, quickly growing wet with saliva. “You’re mine.”
He watches him with such an intensity that Lucerys’ brain shuts off.
Mine. Mine mine mine mine.
Lucerys was used to being claimed. By his mother, his father, and his grandfather. All of them feel the constant urge to remind him that he is theirs, no matter the colour of his hair or the biology he inherited from Old Valyria.
But never before has he been claimed. He’s never felt another man wanting him to be his.
Dalton wants him to be his. Feels jealous over the thought of Lucerys being with other men.
Perhaps, if he were good, Dalton would truly take him to wife.
Then, the fingers slip out of his mouth and disappear from his sight.
Lucerys could feel them, his brain no longer dizzy with overstimulation as the pressure on his clit eased. His brows scrunched together as he felt the man’s fingers, long and thick, sliding through his wet folds. His clit throbs still as Dalton grazes it, but he pays little attention to it. He presses lower, parting with an instinctive ease.
“What are you—” Luke starts, but Dalton cuts him off with a kiss, hot and deep, swallowing the words before they can even form. The man’s other hand pins him by the hip, digging into the delicate bone beneath the skin, while his fingers enter his cunt.
He could feel his cunt clench around them, for a moment, alarmed and shocked at the sudden intrusion. Never before had anything gone up there, Lucerys had never allowed it, not even when the hands of the Lordlings he’d kissed would fumble with his skirts.
Luke gasped into Dalton’s mouth, his chest shuddering as he struggled for breath, his mind racing as it tried to make sense of what was happening. It hurt more than he thought it would, even with the copious amounts of slick leaking from his pussy, the insertion of two fingers still burned as his walls stretched and tried to accommodate them.
“Breathe, baby,” Dalton soothes against his lips. His voice was maddeningly gentle despite the filth of his actions. He kissed him again, slower, softer, as though his body would follow in the characteristics of his kiss.
But so he did. His body gradually began to melt, his thighs no longer tense as his hips rolled down to meet the slow curl of Dalton’s fingers. The rhythmic sensation of them moving in and out of his cunt grew addictive as the man quickly figured out what the prince liked.
The sounds between them grew wetter, more obscene until Lucerys’ cheeks burned so hot with humiliation that he had to break apart the kiss with a choked whimper. Instead, he buried his face in Dalton’s neck, curls sticking to his damp cheeks.
Dalton only laughed softly, the deep vibration rumbling. “Feeling shy now?” he drawled, tilting Luke’s just enough to make their eyes meet, his thumb dragged over Luke’s swollen lip. “What happened to wanting to fuck other men? You were very brave just a moment ago.”
Luke’s lips parted, a whimper escaping before his words could. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’ mean—,” he gasped, his apology cut off as Dalton’s fingers shifted, curling inside him and dragging against a spot that made Lucerys’ whole body jolt, his back arching as burning pleasure coursed through his veins.
“I know you didn’t,” Dalton soothed, his hand wiping sweaty curls away from Luke’s face. His voice was warm, curling around Lucerys like the softest of furs. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re still learning how to be good for me.”
The reassurance washed over Lucerys, so warm he almost feared he would melt. But the warmth soon turned to a burn, so overwhelming as it stole breath after breath from his lips.
His eyes darted down, pleasured confusion written across his face. He did not understand how it could feel so good, how each curl and prod of his fingers seemed to make him feel dizzier and lightheaded. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, knuckles white as he sobbed, his body tightening as pleasure coiled deep within his gut.
“Dal— I —,” Lucerys words collapsed into pitched gasps as suddenly his body snapped tight, seizing and shuddering violently as his orgasm crashed over him. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as his cunt clenched around the Ironborn’s fingers that had slowed, but hadn’t fully stopped, gentle as he helped the young boy through his climax.
When his body finally eased up, his second orgasm having turned him loose-limbed and quiet, Dalton leaned close. “Still so sure you can take it? Be a good little wife for me and take my cock?”
Despite his drooping eyes and weak limbs, Lucerys nodded, frantic and earnest even while his limbs still twitched with aftershocks.
Dalton grinned, greedily drinking in the sight of the sweet prince that he’d ruined so thoroughly, and who was still begging for more. He guided the flushed head of his cock towards Lucerys’ swollen folds, with the same hand that had been knuckles deep in that sweet cunt only moments earlier.
The heavy press of his cock against his entrance made Lucerys keen, his hips lifting instinctively, offering himself up even as his heart hammered in his throat.
Dalton shifted, entering him at last. The slow push against the fragile ring of muscle forced a sob from his throat, fingers tightening where they were gripping the sheets.
It burned. Hurt. Despite the careful and attentive way Dalton’s fingers had worked him open, Lucerys still felt as though he were being split open upon the man’s cock.
“Stop, stop. It hurts.” He sobbed, but his limbs had no strength left to do little more than rest upon the man’s sweaty, muscled chest. Dalton hushed him with low murmurs, his voice as sweet as honey against his ear.
“Just a little more, sweetheart. You gotta relax, baby.”
Lucerys sniffled, brown eyes meeting Dalton’s blue. He seemed so earnest, so worried that suddenly the ache in his cunt did not seem so bad as the one in his heart.
His breath hitched as he raised a shaky hand lifted to his eyes, wiping away tears with the heel of his palm. He nodded, a small shaky gesture with all the trust and bravery he could muster and tried his best to do as Dalton had said, his cunt loosening slightly around the man’s cock, allowing him to move.
Dalton kissed his forehead reverently. “Good boy.”
The prince gasped as Dalton pressed forward, slightly smoother now that Lucerys’ cunt was not suffocating his cock. He shuddered, wincing as he could feel the distinct, uncomfortable pop of his maidenhead giving away, allowing Dalton to push his cock even deeper.
“That’s it,” Dalton murmured, low and coaxing as his thumb brushed Lucerys’ hip reassuringly, grounding him through the rush of emotions that suddenly coursed through him at the realisation of what he was doing. “My sweet little wife, taking me so well.”
Lucerys whimpered, shaky arms wrapping around the older man’s neck. He wasn’t able to stop the continuous prickling of tears upon his lashes. Each thrust seemed to ache at first, dragging against nerves he didn’t even realise he had, until Dalton shifted, changing his angle, and suddenly his head fell back with a broken moan.
The pain began to melt away, easing into something warmer that curled through his stomach like fire, near dizzying in its intensity. Lucerys blinked rapidly through the tears, his whole body trembling around Dalton’s thick length, finally beginning to relax.
“Better?” Dalton asked, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk as though he already knew the answer.
The only response Lucerys could give was a choked gasp and a jerky nod, but it was answer enough for Dalton, whose rhythm quickly built. Hips rolling with more certainty, until each thrust was filling Luke entirely.
“That’s it,” Dalton hissed, sinking his cock in slowly, savouring the sensation of the prince’s tight, virgin cunt. His hand smoothed down Lucerys’ trembling thigh, hooking around it and pinning it against his own hip, spreading him wider. “Such a brave little wife.”
The older man’s thrusts grew heavier after that, more deliberate, with each snap of his hips driving Lucerys deeper into the mattress and making the headboard rattle. The sheer force of it, the constant stimulation against that sweet spot inside of him, had Lucerys squirming, silken thighs falling wider and wider as he felt his mind slowly turn to mush. Each time Dalton buried himself to the hilt, his pelvic ground against Lucerys’ swollen clit, sending sharp jolts of heat rushing up his nerves.
“Fuck, Lu,” Dalton panted, his hand tangling in the mess of Lucerys’ dark curls, tugging slightly so that Lucerys could not hide his face in the pillow. The nickname made Lucerys shiver. No one had ever called him that before,
“Best cunt I’ve ever had.” He rasped, letting go of the dark strands and tracing Lucerys’ lips, red and raw from kissing and biting. “Tightest, sweetest, fuck, so perfect baby.” He rasped, sweat dripping down his temple and his abs. Lucerys’ nails clawed at his back as he sobbed softly at the words, the praise making his chest flutter with a sick sense of pride.
Dalton moved, pulling his cock all the way out, drawing a whine from Lucerys, the prince objecting to suddenly being empty, before slamming all the way back into him, making Lucerys’ back arch off the bed. He did it again, and again, and again until all Lucerys could do was cry and moan while the room filled with the sound of their bodies colliding, growing wetter with each thrust.
Dalton’s free hand slid down, cupping Lucerys’ pretty cunt, thumb pressing short, firm circles over his clit in time with his thrusts. Lucerys’ breath hitched, his whole body suddenly tensing.
“That’s it,” Dalton groaned, rutting into him. “Make yourself nice and tight for me.”
Lucerys’ cunt squeezed around him, barely willing to let Dalton’s cock go. He sobbed, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed as Dalton’s thrusts were beginning to spawn bursting stars behind his eyelids. The man bent his head, biting at the prince’s throat. Sucking bruises into tanned skin as his thrusts turned brutal.
“You’re mine,” He growled, his voice hoarse as his hips slammed harder, the abundance of slick between them easing his way. “You gave me your maidenhead, so I’m the only one allowed to have this perfect little cunt, got it?”
Lucerys’ legs wrapped tighter around Dalton’s waist, his blubbered ‘yes’ muffled against the man’s shoulder. His nails left deep red marks all along Dalton’s back as his climax built higher and higher, his whole body a trembling mess beneath the weight of Dalton’s relentless pace, the man clearly beginning to chase his own climax too.
His thrusts grew rougher, but not sloppier. Each one was somehow deeper than the last as his hips snapped mercilessly against Lucerys. Luke’s walls clenched helplessly around the thick length driving into him.
“That’s it, sweetheart, don't fight it.” Dalton hummed low against his ear.
It didn’t take much longer for the prince’s cunt to spasm, clenching tight around Dalton’s cock as his climax tore through him with a strangled sob, the wave of bliss so intense that he felt faint, and his head lolled against Dalton’s neck.
Dalton braced over him, his thick forearm just beside Lucerys’ face. It didn’t take him much longer to reach his orgasm either, not with the way Luke’s cunt was milking his cock.
He came with a guttural groan, pushing himself in one last time before spilling inside the prince, uncaring of the possible consequences of it.
Dalton panted above him, sweat dripping from his temple and a silver chain hanging down, glistening. His chest was heaving as he stared down at the dazed young thing beneath him. Tears were still streaming down Lucerys’ cheeks, although the boy had no idea why.
It was his sniffle that brought the man away from whatever place he’d gone to in his mind.
Then, slowly, Dalton shifted, turning them onto their sides without pulling free. Lucerys made a soft sound of surprise as his world suddenly spun, the motion confusing his already dazed brain.
But Dalton shushed him and held him tight, allowing Lucerys to curl up against his chest. He whined as the sudden movement jostled the cock still inside him, pressing up against oversensitive nerves.
“Sorry, love,” Dalton said, voice rough as one hand came to tuck messy curls behind Luke’s ear while the other stroked slow, grounding paths down his spine, helping to ground him. The pressure kept him from drifting away and giving in to the strange, fuzzy feeling he felt in his head.
Lucerys blinked, eyes glassy and lips still parted as tiny puffs left his mouth. He made a small, muffled noise against Dalton’s chest, completely and utterly spent.
The older man kissed the damp curls sticking to Lucerys’ temple. “You back with me, sweetheart?” His thumb brushed Luke’s jaw, tilting his flushed face up until their eyes met. His thumbs then traced over tear-stricken cheeks, still damp but no longer teary.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You must have really needed a good fuck.”
Lucerys flushed prettily, a tiny sound catching in his throat as he burrowed closer into Dalton’s chest, fingers greedily curling over the blanket that Dalton placed over them, having somehow found a dry one amidst the soaked sheets.
The Ironborn sailor only chuckled, holding him even tighter and humming a sweet song, some old sailor’s shanty he briefly remembered his own father teaching him. Lucerys tried to join in, but the deep vibrations coming from the man’s chest sent him to sleep as quickly as a babe.
The day had broken out bright and clear above the harbour, not a single cloud marred the blue sky, and Lucerys knew, as he looked out towards the freshly-repaired ship, that it meant the Ironborn would face no delays in their planned departure from Driftmark.
The ship stood tall and proud, her hull repaired with new planks of wood that matched seamlessly. The golden squids plastered upon the dark sails glittered in the rising sun, softly rippling in the breeze.
Lucerys could not help but admire her.
Dockworkers scurried about, securing lines, checking ropes. Some of the Ironborn crew were already around, laying crates down, drinking from shared flasks, kissing women goodbye.
Lucerys hardly noticed them. He stood apart from the crowd that had gathered to admire her, his small hands fidgeting where they were covered by the large sleeves of his dress coat. He had crept out of the castle early, managed to slip out of Dalton’s arms and return to his own chambers.
The morning air nipped at his cheeks, sharp enough to calm his squeamish stomach and racing mind. He’d dressed carefully, a woollen coat-gown of pale blue trimmed with silver thread and clasped shut with a seahorse jewel, his long curls bound back with ribbon so that they would not be rustled by the wind. Despite the high collar, he still felt terribly exposed. His fingers worried at the rings on them, his heart beating much too fast for the simple act of watching a ship.
A shadow fell beside him, tall and broad. Lucerys ordinarily would have darted away, but he could see the black and gold tunic from the corner of his eye, recognised the silver rings upon the tanned, scarred hand that curled around the stone wall in front of him.
“You weren’t standing with your uncle and grandside,” Dalton drawled, his voice smooth as he spoke into Luke’s ear. The young prince flushed and fidgeted, ducking his head upon hearing the sailor’s chuckle.
He fumbled for an answer, gaze stubbornly fixed upon the water despite feeling the burning hole of the man’s eyes upon his face.
“I was just,” he stumbled, trying to find the right word. How could he hope to describe how he felt? Of the shame that filled his belly upon thinking of his grandsire, of the gift he’d given away to a man nearly twice his age. He did not think he would even be able to meet his grandfather’s eyes.
But he did not regret it, not one bit. Part of him almost wished to turn around and beg. Beg Dalton to take him with him.
“I felt too shy,” he finished, tiny voice almost lost as a large breeze flew past, sending the ship’s large canvas sails snapping.
Dalton chuckled. “A true little maid,” he hummed, fingers drifting to trace the embroidered, beaded edges of his sleeves. Lucerys shivered as he watched the man circle pearls, the same way he’d done to his clit only a few hours earlier.
His voice dropped, a teasing purr that had Lucerys’ knees growing weak and his hand reaching for the stone wall, curling around it to steady himself. “Write to me,” he said, his mouth curving into a wicked grin, fingers tapping against Luke’s flat stomach.
“Especially if that sweet belly of yours starts to swell.”