The Dread Lord of Essos

Chapter 83

Cersei Lannister lounged on the edge of her canopied bed with a single foot propped on the velvet footstool. Her eyes were heavy with boredom and irritation. The view through the high window was a gray sky, thick with the choking smoke of a thousand cooking fires and the last desperate attempts at warmth from the hovels below. She toyed with the diamond pendant at her throat, spinning it on its gold chain, and waited for the messenger to work up the courage to approach her.

The door creaked open, and a page shuffled in, his arms trembling from the weight of the leather bag in his grasp. He set down the bag and the sealed letter on her end table, his head bowed so low she could barely see his hairline. “From the east, Lady Cersei,” he squeaked.

“Of course it is,” she said, and waved him away. The bag clinked when she lifted it. It was solid, dense, and very heavy. She hefted it, then opened the top. Inside were enough gold Lions to bankrupt half the old houses in Westeros. She smiled wickedly, knowing she had the most powerful man on the planet looking after her.

She set the bag aside and slit the letter open with a fingernail. The paper was thick, and the black wax seal was pressed with Harry’s personal signet. She read it in a single, greedy go, her eyes flickering with pleasure at each line. He wanted her to invite the most important, the most powerful, and the most envious lords and ladies in Westeros to his city. He wanted her to compile the guest list. He trusted her to do it right.

Cersei’s breath caught for just a moment. The bastard. The absolute, wonderful bastard. She curled the letter around her finger, grinning at the sudden expansion of her power.

She stood and drifted to the window, the red silk of her gown whispering along the carpet. She pulled open the thick, wooden shutters and peered down. She could see the whole city sprawling below the Red Keep. The palace gardens were frosted at the edges, and the paths were being swept by the tireless groundskeepers. The rooftops of the upper city shimmered with white frost. Everything was dusted from the first bite of winter. But the farther her gaze wandered, the quicker the city dissolved into filth and chaos.

A shantytown of lopsided shacks and patched tents hugged the outer walls, and smoke rose from open pit fires. Children in filthy rags skittered among the alleyways, chased by packs of bony dogs. The city stank even up here. She could smell the rot and sewage, the rank sweat and stale ale, and the endless piss of a million desperate bodies stacked atop one another. And somewhere beneath it all, there was a steady undertone of death. Old men keeled over in the streets, plague-riddled whores lay motionless in the cold, damp alleys, and dead rats bloated in the shit-stained gutters. In the garden patch nearest the kitchen, a servant hurried with a shovel, doing a poor job of hiding a lump in the frozen soil. Even here, so far above it all, Cersei wrinkled her nose.

The view made her think of Harold’s city, with its perfect streets and marble facades, the Pleasure District gleaming with fresh gold, and the heated air perfumed by imported lilies. She remembered the bathhouses, the luxurious shops that catered to her every whim, and the endless trays of sugared sweets and exotic fruits. King’s Landing was a shit-pile in comparison, an open wound filled with lice and misery. Only the Red Keep itself rose above the rot, and even here, the stone corridors were already colder than a tomb.

Cersei pressed a palm to the icy brick wall and laughed under her breath. “Those idiots do not know how true royalty lives,” she murmured, thinking of the lords and ladies Harold meant to invite. She could already imagine them, pink-nosed and trembling, gorging themselves at his table, and staring at the bare tits of his concubines. They would pretend not to care that their own wives and daughters were outshined by a single one of Harold’s well-dressed chambermaids. She couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces.

A draft bit at her legs, and she shivered. She stepped back from the window and sauntered to the gilded standing mirror across the room. The woman in the glass smirked back at her. Her lips were like spilled wine, her hair was artfully mussed, and her skin was flawless even in the flat gray light of winter. She adjusted her dress, tugging it down just far enough to show the full curve of her breasts. The silk clung to her slim belly, and the slits ran so high up that both hips were exposed. Oh, how her father hated her dresses, and the thought delighted her. Tywin could bitch and moan until he was red in the face, but both he and Cersei knew that there was nothing else he could do about it. She had Harold on her side, and it would be a fatal mistake to piss him off.

She turned, admiring the length of her leg in the reflection. Her calves were pale and smooth, and the muscles were toned from hours of walking the drafty halls. She bent one knee, then the other, watching the slit open and close with each movement. The effect was scandalous, even for her. If Tywin could see her now, he’d either faint or have a fit.

She puffed out her chest and watched her plump tits swell, barely contained by the crimson silk. She cupped one breast and thumbed the nipple through the fabric. It was already hard, and as she rubbed it, she couldn’t help but think of Harold’s lips wrapped around the stiff, crinkled peak.

She let her hands fall and glided to the wardrobe. The cold crept up her body now, and she hesitated a moment before reaching for the white fur overcoat that Harry had sent her. The furs were from the jungles of Sothoryos, he had told her. It was soft as a cloud, thick, and lined with some otherworldly pelt that almost radiated warmth. She shrugged it on, burying her body in the softness, and inhaled the faint scent of vanilla that clung to it.

The coat made her look even more regal as the red silk shined against the white fur. She inspected herself in the mirror one more time, and this time, the woman who looked back was something new. She was not just a queen in a crumbling castle, but an empress waiting to return to her empire.

She glanced at the letter again, and her mouth twisted into a sly, predatory smile. She would write back, and she would make the guest list that would bring the rest of the world to its knees. She’d make every lord and lady beg for an invitation, then let them see for themselves how pathetic the rest of the realm had become. The anticipation and excitement warmed her more than the coat ever could.

Cersei strode from the room, her mind already dancing through the names she would put at the top of the list … and the ones she’d leave off, just to watch them squirm. As she passed the window, she didn’t bother to look down. The city could drown in shit for all she cared. In her heart, she was already half a world away, gliding through warm gardens and corridors lined with gold. She would soon return home, and nothing in this city could stop her.

The Dread Lord of Essos

The black horse thundered across the half-frozen ground, muscles rippling under sheets of blackened steel. Harry leaned forward in the saddle with a sword in hand and a hunger in his chest. The hooves of his mount tore muddy trenches in the earth, spraying globs of sod and ice behind. Steam jetted from the horse’s flared nostrils in clouds, and its eyes glared red and wild through the slits in its visor. The sellswords ahead had built their line in two ranks, hoping to slow the charge, but Harry saw the panic before he even reached them.

The first row braced their shields, and the wall of iron and wood slammed into the oncoming beast. The horse drove through them like a battering ram. Bodies flew, shields split, and a scream tore the air as one unlucky bastard vanished under the trample of hooves. Harry lifted his sword and brought it down on the head of the next man in line, splitting helm and skull in one blow. He yanked the blade free with a twist, then kicked the corpse aside as if it weighed nothing.

The horse kept going like an unstoppable force of nature, and Harry let it run wild. His men howled behind him with thousands of voices raised in a chorus of violence. He heard the crash of metal, the shriek of steel on steel, and the wet, meaty sound of bodies breaking. He glanced left and saw his second wave pouring into the gap, spears thrusting and axes rising and falling.

The second rank of sellswords tried to hold, but they were already wavering. The captain in charge screamed something, but his voice was lost in the rising wind and the thunder of hooves. Harry barreled down on them, and a second sword magically appeared in his free hand. His horse lunged, and Harry brought both blades down in a scissoring sweep. The first blade took a man’s arm off at the shoulder. The second gutted the man beside him. Harry kept moving, leaving a trail of ruined flesh in his wake.

A spear flashed in from the right, aimed low at the horse’s belly. The tip struck the armor and snapped in half. The horse lashed out with a kick, shattering the spearman’s knee. The man crumpled, and Harry barely noticed as he trampled the shrieking body underhoof. Another sellsword tried to hamstring the horse with a hatchet, but the weapon bounced off the reinforced plates. Harry flung his conjured sword at him, and it spun dangerously through the air and impaled his chest with a meaty thunk.

At the far end of the field, the black and white dragons circled above, waiting. Harry tilted his head, and with a single mental command, he called them down. The dragons plunged, wings tucked, and the first blast of fire was a rolling thunder that incinerated half a hundred men in an instant. The heat hit Harry’s face even at this distance, and the stench of burning flesh followed it on the wind.

Men ran screaming in all directions, their clothes and hair aflame. Some hit the ground rolling as they tried to smother the agonizing flames. Some writhed on the ground, clawing at the dirt, while others flung themselves into the icy stream that cut the field in two. Most just died where they stood, charred black in the cheap armor that had been their only hope.

Harry’s horse drove into the heart of the panic. Sellswords broke and scattered, but some fools stood their ground. One of them, a brute of a man with a patchy red beard and an axe as big as Harry’s chest, roared a challenge. Harry didn’t even slow down. He guided his horse straight at the man, drew his flaming sword, and swung it. The axe-man tried to parry, but the force of the blow took his hand off at the wrist. The sword didn’t stop there. It kept going, biting into the man’s neck and nearly taking off his head. Blood sprayed in a thick mist, spattering Harry’s armor.

A group of sellswords gathered at the far edge of the carnage, shields raised, and spears pointed. Harry rode straight at them, feeling the thrill of godlike invincibility. The first spear hit his chest and snapped. The second clanged off his arm and fell from the sellsword’s grasp. Harry raised his sword and drove it through the top of the nearest helmet. The man screamed as the blade burned through flesh and bone. The rest of them hesitated, glancing at each other, and in that instant, Harry barreled into them, swinging wildly.

He cut one down, then another. A third tried to run, but the horse snapped at his back and dragged him to the ground. Harry leapt from the saddle and landed in the middle of the cluster, slashing and stabbing anything he could reach. The sellswords faltered and fell, dropping their shields as they tried to scramble away.

The black and white dragons returned, sweeping low. Harry raised his fiery sword in salute, and Daemon spat another torrent of fire. This time, the blast caught a line of archers just as they were trying to form up. Men tumbled and fell, shrieking, their bows and quivers gone in a single rush of flame. The ground steamed as the bodies hit, and the air filled with the unpleasant scent of burnt meat.

Harry surveyed the slaughter. His men had broken the last line of defense and were chasing the survivors into the woods beyond the field. Most of the sellswords had thrown down their weapons. A few still bravely fought, but it was hopeless. Harry strode toward the nearest group of enemies, his flaming sword burning with supernatural heat.

The sellswords saw him coming and froze. For a second, nobody moved. Then one of them, a pale boy with bad teeth and terror in his eyes, pissed his trousers, dropped his shield, and bolted. The others followed suit, vanishing into the trees.

Harry laughed, and the sound was colder than the wind. He lifted his sword and waved it overhead. The blade left a trail of fire in its wake. His men saw the sign and roared out a war cry as they chased down the retreating army. The enemy was broken, and their spirit was gone. He could feel the fear radiating off them, more potent than any weapon.

He planted the tip of his sword in the earth and looked up at the sky. The dragons circled, their bellies gleaming from the firelight below. Harry sucked in a deep breath, savoring his victory. Harry then grabbed his sword, turned, and whistled loudly. Within seconds, his black horse trotted over to him, and Harry jumped onto the saddle and rode back to his city, victorious.

The Dread Lord of Essos  

The black stallion galloped up the muddy slope toward the city gates, and Harry sat tall in the saddle. Blood was splattered on the plates of his armor, and a fragment of someone’s torn blue tabard still hung from his horse’s armor. His eyes were fixed on the high wall ahead. The white marble reflected the gray light of late afternoon, and the gates themselves were four stories tall, reinforced with iron bands and hammered gold. They were imposing, and they screamed of wealth.

Two sentries spotted him first. They cupped their hands and shouted down to the main guardhouse, and instantly, the wall came to life. Men scrambled to their stations, bows at the ready, but as soon as they saw the colors and the battered horse, they started to whoop and cheer. The gates began to move, and their gears ground as the doors parted just enough for a man to slip through.

Harry slowed to a trot as he approached the archway. The guards on either side bowed so low their helms nearly knocked together. One grinned, and the other just stared, wild-eyed, at the battered mess of the horse and rider.

“You made it, Your Grace!” shouted the older guard, who had thick gray brows and a nose that had never healed straight.

Harry laughed and reined the horse to a stop right in front of the archway. “Sound the horn. Let everyone know they’re safe.”

The guards moved as one. One of them ran up the spiral steps of the nearest tower and vanished inside. The others pushed at the gates, which groaned and creaked but gave way, and within moments the city was open to its king.

Harry spurred his horse forward and entered through the high arch. The first horn blast rang out over the city, the sound carrying throughout. Every window in the nearest row of houses opened, and soon the square was flooded with smallfolk. They poured out of the alleys, some still in their aprons or carrying armfuls of raw bread dough. Children darted between legs, chasing each other and shrieking with excitement.

At the center of the square, a baker with arms as thick as cured ham legs hauled himself up onto an ale barrel and pointed at Harry. “There he is! The Lion returns!”

A hundred others joined in, and suddenly Harry was mobbed by people. The city guard tried to hold them back, but the crowd surged forward anyway. A dozen hands reached for him. Harry grinned and swept off his helm, letting his dark hair fall out in a wave. He held the helm up and bellowed, “Your city is safe! No man will ever breach our walls!”

The roar of approval nearly drowned out the next horn blast. People threw hats, loaves of bread, and even flowers. Old men laughed and fired up their pipes. Women shrieked with relief, joy, and lust for their king. Harry’s horse snorted and pranced in place, its hooves leaving muddy imprints on the smooth road.

A girl in a flowery dress ran up with a shy grin and held up a bouquet of wilted daisies. Harry leaned down, took the flowers, and ruffled her hair. “Go home to your mum,” he said. “Tell her a feast for the smallfolk will be held tonight.”

Another horn blast echoed over the rooftops, and the crowds swelled. Every window and balcony was crowded with faces, and in the distance, the bells of the Temple of the Mother rang out in celebration.

The guards ushered Harry down the main thoroughfare, and people lined the road on both sides. He rode through the city at a slow walk, waving, laughing, and occasionally blowing a kiss to the prettiest girls in the crowd. The faces that stared back at him glowed with pride. The people cheered not because they were well-fed or happy, but because their king was not only alive, but victorious.

When he finally reached the steps of his palace, he slid off the horse. The stablemaster rushed out and took the reins, his eyes wide with awe at the blood-splattered stallion. The palace guards snapped to attention, forming a crisp line up the marble steps. Harry nodded at them and disappeared inside, ready for a hot bath.

The Dread Lord of Essos

Harry rolled his shoulders as he relaxed in his pool-sized marble tub, his eyes half-lidded. He could already feel his body start to relax. The remnants of the battle outside felt a thousand miles away. Here, there was only warmth and the soft lapping of water against his chest.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Melisandre glided in first. She wore a crimson velvet robe belted at the waist, and every movement made the fabric shimmer and cling to the curves of her hips and thighs. Her lips curled up in a knowing smile as she met his gaze.

A step behind her came Kinvara in black silk. Kinvara’s smile was wider and a little more wicked. Her dark eyes never left Harry’s body as she closed the distance. She tugged the pin from her hair and shook out a mane of jet-black curls.

Melisandre stopped at the edge of the bath and looked down at Harry, her lips pulled into a sexy smirk. “You’re alive, I see.”

“Alive, and eager for better company than foul-mouthed sellswords,” Harry said.

Melisandre’s eyes sparkled. She shrugged out of her robe and let it pool at her feet. Her body was as smooth as cream, with not a single mark or scar. Her waist was small, her hips generous and soft, and her tits were round and high, tipped with hard, pink nipples that were made to be sucked. She stepped into the water, and the surface rippled up around her thighs.

Kinvara didn’t wait her turn. She peeled her own dress off and tossed it behind her, walking with a deliberate, exaggerated sway. Her body was different than Melisandre’s. It was taller and leaner, but with a belly and hips made for riding and fucking, and her tits bounced with every step. Like Melisandre, she was perfectly bare below the waist, and the mound of her pussy was smooth, puffy, and gleaming with a hint of oil. She stepped right up to the edge of the bath, locked eyes with Harry, and then slid in with a splash.

The water covered their skin in a glimmering sheen, and the scent of jasmine curled around them as they drifted closer. Melisandre slid behind Harry, her breasts flattening against his back, and she wrapped her arms around his chest. Kinvara took the front, her hands gliding up his thighs until they reached the spot she wanted.

“Did you destroy them?” Kinvara asked, not even pretending to be interested in the answer. Her hands were already stroking his cock under the water, and her thumb traced lazy circles just below the tip.

Harry grinned and let his head fall back against Melisandre’s shoulder. “They didn’t stand a chance. There were maybe three thousand men at the most, and most of them looked desperate enough to sell their swords for a crust of bread.”

Kinvara nibbled at his jawline, her lips velvety and warm. “You’re a brute who shows no mercy to your enemies,” she said, and giggled as his cock twitched in her grip. “I wholeheartedly approve.”

Melisandre reached up and ran her nails lightly down his chest, then started rubbing the soap into his skin. She used both hands, making sure to leave a trail of tiny red marks. “They will keep coming,” she huskily said in his ear. “Every hungry man in the world wants what you have.”

Harry grunted in agreement, but the sensation of Kinvara’s hand working his cock made it difficult to focus. “Let them come. I’ll kill them all.”

Kinvara tilted her head and sucked at the hollow of his neck. “You like that, do you not?” Her other hand drifted between her own legs, and she moaned quietly. “You enjoy being tested by the unworthy.”

Harry pulled her closer and mashed his lips against hers. She kissed back hard, nipping at his lower lip, and her tongue was eager and insistent. Under the water, her hand squeezed his cock, and the pressure was perfect.

Melisandre’s hands drifted lower. She cupped his balls and kneaded them gently with skilled fingers. “Does it make you hard, thinking about the battles that will come?” she breathed against his ear.

He laughed. “Everything makes me hard when you’re around.”

Melisandre giggled and slid around to the front, nudging Kinvara aside with a playful bump of her hip. Her tits bobbed above the water, and her nipples were stiff and pink. She straddled Harry’s lap, and her hands guided his cock between her thighs.

Kinvara pouted theatrically, then slipped behind Harry and started kissing his neck and shoulders. Her hair spilled over him like black silk, and she pressed her tits to his back, pinning him between both women.

Melisandre pressed her mound against his cock and began to rock her hips, grinding her slit along his length. She locked eyes with him and reached down, grabbing his shaft with one hand and stroking it against her clit. The lips of her pussy parted around the tip, leaving a trail of arousal as she moved up and down.

“Tell us about the battle,” she demanded, but there was no real curiosity in her voice. She just liked hearing him talk while she worked him with her body.

Harry reached up and grabbed both of her tits, squeezing hard enough to make her moan. “There’s not much to tell. They tried to make a shield wall. I broke it. The dragons roasted the rest.”

Melisandre’s eyes rolled back, and she shuddered as she kept grinding her pussy against the head of his cock. “Did you feel like a god?”

Harry squeezed her nipples between his fingers, making her gasp. “I always feel like a god,” he said, then pushed his hips up hard enough to lift her out of the water. No one knew of his true origin, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Melisandre laughed and grabbed him by the hair. She leaned in and bit his earlobe. Her voice dropped to a naughty whisper. “Show me.”

She pulled back, then slid down into the water, her hair streaming behind her like a red cloud. She vanished beneath the surface, and Harry felt her hands guiding his cock between her lips. Her mouth was hot and slick, and she took him deep enough that the pressure made his vision blur. She started to move, and each bob of her head was punctuated by the swirl of her tongue.

Kinvara giggled in his ear, her hands roaming all over his body. She pressed her own tits against his back, then reached around and gripped his pecs. “You are so easy to please,” she whispered, then bit down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

Harry moaned as Melisandre worked his cock with her mouth. Her hands stroked his thighs, her nails raking the skin, and every now and then she surfaced for air, her red hair clinging to her face, her lips parted, and her eyes wicked. Then she dove back under, taking his cock deeper than before, and the pleasure built until he thought he would explode.

Kinvara slid around to face him and sat on his lap, her pussy mashed against his thigh. She reached down, grabbed Melisandre by the hair, and pulled her up. The priestess gasped as water streamed down her face, and she grinned as she licked the drips from her lips.

“Do not be greedy,” Kinvara scolded. She leaned in and kissed Melisandre, and the two women locked lips, their tongues tangling into a hot, sexy knot.

Harry watched, his cock still rock-hard, and the head popped just above the surface of the water. Melisandre reached down, took him in her hand, and pointed it at Kinvara’s slit. Kinvara didn’t hesitate. She pushed her hips forward, guiding the tip between her lips, then sat down hard. She hissed as Harry’s cock slid inside her, and the muscles of her pussy clamped down like a tight, velvety vice.

She rocked her hips slowly and deeply while Melisandre watched, rubbing her own clit with eager fingers. Kinvara’s tits bounced with every thrust, and her moans grew louder. She leaned forward and kissed Harry, biting his lip and then sucking it. He reached up, grabbed her ass, and squeezed hard, driving her down onto his cock.

Melisandre slid behind Harry again, wrapped her arms around his neck, then nibbled and licked at his ear. She moaned deeply as she rubbed her aching nipples against his muscled back.

Harry grunted, but he couldn’t form words. Kinvara’s pussy milked his cock with every clench, and Melisandre’s hands expertly played with his balls. It was bloody fantastic, Harry thought.

The water sloshed and splashed as Kinvara started to lose control. Her moans became high-pitched and desperate, and she dug her nails into Harry’s shoulders. Melisandre leaned around and sucked one of Kinvara’s nipples into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue. That was enough to send Kinvara over the edge. She came, and her pussy clamped down so hard that Harry almost lost it then and there.

He waited, holding back by force of will, until Kinvara slumped against him, panting and quivering. Melisandre slid back to his front and straddled his lap again. She kissed him hard while he gripped her ass and spread her luscious cheeks.

“My turn,” she breathily stated. Melisandre then guided his cock into her soaked pussy. She was tighter and hotter, and she rode him with practiced skill, her hands on his shoulders, and her tits bouncing in his face. Kinvara kissed Harry’s neck and stroked his chest, but she also reached around and rubbed Melisandre’s clit while she rode.

The sensation was overwhelming. Harry gritted his teeth, gripped Melisandre’s hips, and fucked her so hard the water churned up to the rim. Melisandre screamed and came, her nails digging into his back. Harry let himself go and filled her with everything he had, the pleasure hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

He collapsed back, his arms draped around both women. They curled against him, breathing in time with his own heaving chest. Once they had caught their breath, the two women giggled and soaped up his body, paying extra attention to his cock. When they were done, it was sparkling clean, and they immediately dragged him back into his bedroom and got it dirty again.