Date/Time: Vaes Meereen — Evening / Following Morning
Angelus — First Person
The Kulve Taroth hatchling ate like she had opinions about it.
I'd prepared a bowl of finely ground mineral paste mixed with raw gold dust — the standard nutrient compound I used for newborn draconic creatures, adjusted for her Elder Dragon physiology. She sniffed it. Circled the bowl twice. Dipped one golden claw into the paste, tasted it, and made a sound that conveyed, despite her being less than an hour old, genuine dissatisfaction.
"It's nutritionally perfect," I told her.
She chirped. The metallic resonance bounced off the walls of my private chamber. She pushed the bowl with her nose, sloshing paste onto the golden silk.
"You're going to be difficult, aren't you."
Another chirp. Higher pitched. Her amber-gold eyes found mine and held them, enormous in her small face.
I added a thread of raw mana to the paste, the magical equivalent of seasoning. She sniffed again. Then she ate. Her tiny mouth worked through the paste in small, precise bites, pausing between each one to look at me as if confirming I was still there.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
She ate the rest. When the bowl was empty, she climbed out of the nesting alcove on unsteady legs, wobbled across the silk, and pressed herself against my stomach where I sat cross-legged on the floor. Her golden horns — those magnificent spiraling ram horns, already showing the grooved pattern that would become her signature — bumped against my thigh as she settled.
The warmth she radiated was different from fire. Deeper. The heat of metal in a forge, of sunlight on gold, of abundance itself made physical. I ran one clawed finger along her spine, feeling the tiny scales shift under my touch — dark grey-bronze with golden edging, each one no larger than a thumbnail. Her stubby tail curled around my wrist.
The chest-rumble started without my permission. Low, sustained, resonating through my ribcage and into the small body pressed against me. She chirped in response — a call-and-answer that felt older than language.
I sat with her for an hour. She fell asleep against my stomach, her breathing slowing to a rhythm that matched mine. Her golden claws kneaded my scales in her sleep, tiny pricks of pressure that I could barely feel through my Dragonborn hide.
When I was certain she was deep enough under, I lifted her carefully and placed her back in the incubation alcove. The warming enchantments adjusted automatically, wrapping her in a cocoon of regulated heat. She stirred once, chirped softly, and settled.
I watched her for another moment. Then I turned to the door, and the warmth in my chest shifted to something considerably less maternal.
I sent the summons through the Soul Link.
Two threads simultaneously. Kinvara. Melisandre. The message was simple: My chamber. Now.
Kinvara — Third Person
The summons hit like a pulse of heat behind her sternum.
Kinvara was in the Scarlet Wing's evening commons, reviewing training schedules with two of her senior converts, when the thread blazed through the Soul Link and made her breath catch mid-sentence. She set down her quill. The converts looked at her.
"Continue without me," she said, and her voice came out steadier than it had any right to.
She found Melisandre in the corridor outside. The former Red Priestess was already walking, her crimson vestments freshly straightened, her flame-threaded hair rebraided with care that suggested she'd been anticipating this moment all day.
Their eyes met.
"You felt it too," Kinvara said.
"I've been feeling it since this afternoon." Melisandre's red eyes were bright. "She kissed me in the courtyard. Whispered that it would be soon."
They fell into step together. The compound's corridors were warm with enchanted crystal lighting, and the evening sounds of Vaes Meereen filtered through the windows — distant forges, the murmur of the market district winding down.
"Are you nervous?" Melisandre asked.
"I organized the theological restructuring of a five-thousand-year-old religion in three days. Nervousness is not my primary mode." Kinvara adjusted the collar of her vestments. "I am anticipating."
"You're nervous."
"I am anticipating."
"You've adjusted your collar four times since we started walking."
Kinvara's hand dropped from her collar. "I hate that you notice things."
"I'm a precognitive. Noticing things is all I do." Melisandre slowed as they neared the door. "Triss told me about her first time. She said the Transmutation spell is — larger than expected. And that the ridges do things."
She glances at Melisandre. "Things."
"She said 'things' and then turned a shade of red that made her scales look pale."
Kinvara's mouth twitched. "That's either very encouraging or very alarming."
"Both. Artoria's report was similar, except she also mentioned the tail."
"Was there more things she can do with her tail?"
"Triss said 'you'll find out in the future' and Artoria turned the same shade of red as Triss."
They reached the door. Kinvara adjusted her vestments. Melisandre ran her tongue across her fangs.
Then Kinvara pushed the door open.
Angelus — First Person
They entered together, and the air changed.
I was on the bed in my Dragonborn form, naked. The Transmutation had already been cast — the draconic cock resting heavy against my thigh, thick, ridged and radiating the heat that was fundamental to my biology. My scales caught the candlelight in patterns of deep crimson and shadow. My tail curled beside me on the sheets.
Kinvara stopped three steps into the room. Her warm brown eyes dropped to my body and stayed there. Her lips parted. A flush spread across her scales — from her throat down across her collarbone, deepening the crimson to something darker.
Melisandre stopped beside her. Her red eyes traveled the same path — from my face down my chest, across the ridged plates of my stomach, to the cock lying against my thigh. Her tongue touched her lower lip. The flames along her forearms flickered brighter.
I held up one finger and curled it toward me.
They came.
I rose to meet them. My hands found the clasps of Kinvara's vestments first — the crimson-and-gold fabric falling open as I worked each fastening loose. I kissed her throat while my fingers moved, lips tracing the line where skin met scale, feeling her pulse hammer against my mouth. She gasped. Her hands gripped my shoulders.
I moved to Melisandre. Her vestments had fewer clasps — I pulled them free with less ceremony, baring her shoulders, her breasts, the crimson scales that traced down her ribs. My mouth found her collarbone, then the curve of her breast, tongue dragging across the ridge where scale met skin. She made a urgently low sound, her hands finding the back of my head.
Kinvara's vestments pooled at her feet. Melisandre's followed. They stood before me, naked and scaled and beautiful, their Draconian forms catching the candlelight in overlapping patterns of crimson and flame.
I kissed Kinvara's lips. Slow and deep. Tasting the fire that lived behind her teeth, her tongue meeting mine deliberately. She pressed into the kiss, her body warm against mine.
Then Melisandre. Harder. My teeth caught her lower lip and tugged. She moaned into my mouth, her body arching against me, the flames along her arms flaring hot enough to warm the air between us.
"Both of you have only gotten more beautiful since the conversion," I said, drawing back enough to look at them. My clawed hands traced the scales along Kinvara's waist, then Melisandre's hip. My tail found Melisandre's and coiled around it. "Every time I see you, I wonder how I waited this long."
Kinvara's breath was unsteady. Melisandre's red eyes were dark with want.
Kinvara came to my lap. She straddled me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and kissed me with a hunger she'd been containing since the day she'd knelt in my chamber and offered her faith. Her tongue pushed past my fangs and found mine, and the chest-rumble that started in my ribcage was low enough to vibrate through both our bodies. She ground her hips against my cock — the ridged length pressed between us, her wetness slicking the underside as she moved.
"You've been wanting this," I said against her mouth.
"Since before and after the service." Her hips rolled. "Since you looked at me in the throne room and I realized that everything I'd devoted my life to was smaller than the being standing in front of me."
My hands moved down her body. I lifted her, laid her back on the sheets, and knelt between her legs. Her thighs fell open, and the scent of her hit me — it was warm, musky and tinged with the fire element that ran through every Draconian's blood.
My tongue found her.
She arched off the bed. My tongue was longer than a human's, thicker, and I used every inch of it — broad strokes along her outer lips, then narrowing, pressing, finding the swollen bud at the apex and circling it with deliberate pressure. She cried out. Her hands found my horns and gripped.
I pushed deeper. The tip of my tongue entered her, tasting salt and heat, and she made a sound. Her thighs clamped around my head. I growled against her flesh, and the vibration made her whole body shudder.
On the bed behind us, Melisandre watched. Her hand had moved between her own legs, fingers working fast, patience gone.
I withdrew from Kinvara and moved my snout to her inner right thigh. She looked down at me — eyes hazy, lips swollen, breath coming in gulps — and understood.
I bit.
My fangs pierced the scaled skin, and the claiming magic erupted through the wound — golden fire that sank into her flesh and wrote itself into her biology. Kinvara screamed. Her back arched, her hands clawed the sheets, and the Mark blazed to life on her thigh like a brand of molten gold.
"Now you're Mine," I said.
"I'm yours," she gasped. "My Goddess."
I rose, positioned myself between her legs, and the head of my cock pressed against her entrance. I looked into her eyes. She nodded.
I pushed.
Two inches in, I hit resistance.
We both felt it. Kinvara's eyes widened. Then she laughed — breathless, half wonder, half disbelief.
"The conversion," she said. "It rebuilt — everything."
The barrier. The Draconian conversion had remade their bodies completely, and that included this. Which now that I think about it, it was likely the same for Yennefer and Triss. I just didn't notice it at the time because of the momen.
I looked at Melisandre. Her hand had stopped moving. Her red eyes were wide.
"Both of you," I said.
"Both of us," Kinvara confirmed. She reached up and pulled me down by the horns. "Take it."
I pushed through. The barrier gave. Kinvara cried out — pain mixed with pleasure, the sting sharp and immediate. I held still, buried halfway inside her, letting her body adjust around the intrusion. She was tight — impossibly, beautifully tight — and the heat of her clenched around my cock like a fist made of silk and fire.
I started moving. Slow at first. Long strokes that drew nearly out before pressing back, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder. Her hands found my back. Her claws left thin lines across my scales.
"I know your secrets, Kinvara," I said against her ear, rocking into her steadily. "The ones you keep buried beneath the composure."
Her eyes flickered. "What — ah — what secrets?"
"You spent decades running temples and managing congregations and being the most disciplined person in every room." My teeth found her earlobe. "And you hate it. What you want is someone who takes it all away. Someone strong enough that you don't have to think."
Her pupils dilated. The flush across her scales darkened three shades. "How did you —"
"I've been watching you for months, Kinvara. The way your shoulders drop when I give an order. The way your breathing changes when I use that tone." Another thrust, deeper. "You don't want a partner. You want a Mistress."
"Yes," she whispered. "Gods — yes."
"And your friend over there —" My eyes found Melisandre, whose fingers had resumed between her legs. "She wants the same thing. But she wants pain with it. She wants to be held down and used and told she's good when she takes it."
Melisandre's hand faltered. Her red eyes went wide. Then dark.
"Isn't that right, Melisandre?"
"Yes, Mistress." The words fell out of her before she could stop them.
I pulled Kinvara up from the sheets, turned her, and hooked my arms under her knees — a Full Nelson, her back against my chest, her body spread open and facing Melisandre. My cock stayed buried inside her, and I thrust upward with a force that lifted her off my lap.
PLAP.
"Oh Goddess!" Kinvara's head fell back against my shoulder. "I've never been fucked like this before! Ahhh~!"
"Of course you haven't." I thrust again, harder, the wet sound echoing off the stone walls. "Your previous partners weren't me. And as long as you're mine, you'll never be left wanting."
"Yes — yes, I'm yours — please —"
I gave her what she asked for. Hard, deep strokes that made her body bounce in my grip, the slapping of scales against scales filling the chamber in a rhythm that built and built. Melisandre watched from the bed, three feet away, her fingers working furiously, her red eyes locked on where my cock disappeared into Kinvara's body. She came with a strangled moan, her back arching, wetness glistening on her fingers.
The orgasm hit hard. A surge that erupted from the base of my spine and poured into Kinvara in a flood that made her scream. I kept thrusting through it, each stroke pumping more into her, her stomach visibly swelling with the volume.
*PLAP.* *PLAP.* *PLAP.*
Kinvara's cries became wordless. She flinched with each thrust, oversensitive and overwhelmed, her body clenching around me in waves that milked every drop.
I stopped. Pulled out. Laid her on the bed. My seed spilled from her in a thick, warm stream, pooling on the sheets beneath her. She lay with her eyes closed, breathing in shuddering gulps, her hand pressed against her stomach.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Melisandre was on the floor in front of me before I'd finished settling.
She crawled forward on hands and knees, crimson scales catching the candlelight. Her tongue found my cock first — flat, broad strokes that cleaned Kinvara's taste and my own seed from the ridged surface. She took me into her mouth, red eyes looking up, and sucked.
I gripped her hair — the flame-threaded strands hot against my palm — and pushed deeper. She took it. Her throat opened, and I slid in until her nose pressed against the scales of my pelvis.
I started fucking her face roughly.
*SLURP.* *SLURP.* *SLURP.*
My hips rolled forward in deep, steady thrusts that pushed into her throat and held. She gagged once, adjusted, and took it without pulling back. Her red eyes watered. Her hands gripped my thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of throat and tongue filled the chamber.
"Good girl," I said. My claws tightened in her hair. "That's my good girl."
She moaned around me. The vibration traveled straight to my spine.
I came down her throat. Held her there, cock buried to the base, feeling her throat work as she swallowed. Each gulp audible in the quiet room.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
I pulled out. Melisandre opened her mouth and showed me — empty. Every drop swallowed.
I was hard again instantly.
"Turn around," I said.
She turned. On hands and knees, her ass raised, her tail lifted to one side. The crimson scales along her spine caught the candlelight in a line of burning red. I ran my clawed hands across her ass and smacked.
*CRACK!*
She yelped. The red handprint bloomed across her scales.
I lowered my head and dragged my tongue across her pussy from behind. She tasted like fire and want — salt and heat and the sweetness of a Draconian in the grip of arousal. I licked her slowly, my tongue splitting her open and probing, while my hands kneaded her ass in rough circles.
She pushed back against my face.
I smacked her again. Harder.
*CRACK!*
"Did I say you could move, pet?" My voice was a growl, felt more than heard. "You don't move without my permission."
"I'm sorry, Mistress." Her voice was wrecked. Breathless. "I'm sorry, I —"
I resumed. Slower this time, punishing her with patience, my tongue working lazy circles around her clit while she trembled and fought to stay still. She came once. Twice. The second time her arms gave out and her face pressed against the sheets, her moans muffled by the silk.
I withdrew. Stared at her ass — flushed, marked with my handprints, trembling. I lowered my mouth to her right cheek and bit.
Deep.
Melisandre screamed. The claiming magic blazed through the wound, and the Mark seared itself into her flesh. Her whole body convulsed, the pain and the magic and the pleasure colliding in a detonation that made her scales flush from crimson to near-black.
"You belong to me now, just like Kinvara" I growled against the fresh Mark.
She shuddered from head to tail. "Yes Mistress."
I rose. Positioned my cock against her pussy. And slammed in.
No gentleness this time. Her virginity gave way in a single brutal thrust that drove her face into the mattress, and I didn't stop. I fucked her hard — each stroke pushing deep enough to fill her completely, the impact of my hips against her ass leaving fading red marks that overlapped my handprints. My claws found her back, dragging lines down her spine that beaded with pinpricks of blood.
Melisandre loved every second of it. Her tongue hung from her mouth, her breath coming in ragged pants, her moans building into something primal and raw. She pushed back to meet my thrusts, and this time I let her.
*PLAP.* *PLAP.* *PLAP.* *PLAP.*
I came inside her with a final slam that left my hips flush against her ass. She screamed into the sheets, her body locking tight around me, the orgasm ripping through her in waves that I felt through the Soul Link like aftershocks.
I pulled out. She collapsed forward, panting, my seed leaking from her in a warm stream.
A moment to breathe. Then I gripped her hips, spread her ass, and pressed the head of my cock against her other entrance.
Melisandre's head whipped around. Her red eyes went wide. "Mistress, I've never —"
I pushed in.
She squealed. The sound bounced off the walls — high, sharp, breaking into a moan as I seated myself inch by inch. Tighter here. The heat was different — drier, gripping, every ridge of my cock catching on the ring of muscle as I pushed past it.
I fucked her there too. And after I'd filled her, after she lay twitching and leaking from both holes, I turned to Kinvara.
She'd recovered. Her warm brown eyes were bright with renewed desire, and she'd been watching the entire time, one hand between her legs.
"Your turn," I said.
She climbed onto my lap, back to my chest, and lowered herself onto my cock — her ass taking me with a hiss and a moan, her head falling back against my shoulder. I gripped her arms and pulled them behind her, holding her wrists in one clawed hand while I thrust upward.
The candles burned down to stubs. New ones lit themselves — the enchantments in my chamber responding to the fading light without being asked.
Kinvara straddled my face while Melisandre rode my cock, the two of them kissing above me, hands in each other's hair. I gripped Kinvara's thighs and pulled her down harder onto my tongue. She cried out into Melisandre's mouth.
Later — time had stopped mattering — both of them were on their knees between my legs, mouths working in tandem. Kinvara on the shaft, Melisandre on the head, their tongues meeting and braiding as they shared me between them.
"Look at me," I said. They looked up. Four draconic eyes — warm brown and burning red — staring up from between my legs, their lips wet, their scales flushed. "You're beautiful."
Then they were on either side of me in the bed, mouths on my chest, tongues tracing the ridged scales, lips finding my nipples. Kissing me — both at once, three mouths meeting, tongues tangling, shared breath and shared heat.
I fell asleep with Kinvara's head on my shoulder and Melisandre's arm across my waist and the satisfaction of a dragon who had claimed what was hers settling into every scale.
Morning.
I woke before them. Extracted myself from the tangle of limbs and scales, stood in the morning light that streamed through the eastern window, and crossed to the kitchen alcove.
Eggs. Soft yolks for Kinvara. Flatbread, herb-infused oil. Meat seared rare for Melisandre, nearly raw, with a bowl of fruit and a cup of the Volantene bergamot tea she drank when nobody was watching.
The smell woke them.
Kinvara stirred first. Her warm brown eyes opened, found the ceiling, found the unfamiliar room, and then found me crossing toward the bed with a laden tray. Her expression went through three stages in rapid succession — confusion, memory, and then a slow, radiant warmth that softened every line of her face.
"You cooked," she said.
"I cook after every time."
Melisandre rolled over, her flame-threaded hair tangled across the pillow. She saw the tray and her lips curved. "We were told about this. Triss and Artoria mentioned it." She sat up, the sheets falling to her waist. "We were hoping to experience this."
"It's not hope if it's guaranteed."
I sat on the bed between them and laid the tray across my lap. They leaned against me from either side — Kinvara's head on my left shoulder, Melisandre's on my right. I picked up a piece of flatbread, dipped it in the herb oil, and held it to Kinvara's lips.
She ate from my hand. Her eyes closed. Her mouth curved.
I turned to Melisandre. A slice of seared meat, dripping and rare. She took it between her fangs, chewed, and hummed — a sound that vibrated against my shoulder.
"The tea," Melisandre said.
I held the cup to her lips. She drank, then pressed her mouth against mine — transferring the taste of bergamot and honey into the kiss. Kinvara made a soft sound of protest at being excluded, so I kissed her too, the herb oil still on her lips, sweet and savory.
They ate. I fed them — piece by piece, bite by bite, the intimacy of it as deliberate as everything else. A grape placed on Melisandre's tongue. A piece of bread passed from my mouth to Kinvara's. Fingers licked clean.
By the time the tray was empty, the morning light had filled the chamber, and none of them moved to leave.
They dressed in stages. Kinvara's vestments went on clasp by clasp, fold by fold, each piece adjusted until the crimson-and-gold fabric sat exactly right over her scales. The Mark on her inner thigh throbbed once as the fabric covered it.
Melisandre dressed more slowly, wincing slightly when the fabric crossed the claw marks on her back. She caught Kinvara's eye and smiled.
They left together.
I watched them go. Then I turned to the desk.
Kinvara — Third Person
They found a quiet alcove in the corridor between the Scarlet Wing commons and the administrative wing. A window overlooked the training yards below, where Wyrmborne soldiers ran morning drills in the warming air.
Kinvara leaned against the wall. Her legs were still unsteady. She'd managed to hide it during the walk from Angelus's chamber, but now in private, the aftereffects of what had happened caught up with her.
"I can't feel my thighs," she said.
Melisandre laughed. "I can't sit down properly. The claw marks on my back are still singing."
"You liked the claw marks."
"I loved the claw marks." Melisandre's red eyes went half-lidded. "And the biting. And the way she held me down when I moved without permission." She touched the wall for balance. "When she said 'Did I say you could move, pet' — Kinvara, I have never been that wet in my life. Not once in centuries."
"You moaned loud enough that the guards outside definitely heard."
"Let them hear." Melisandre lifted her chin. "I have nothing to hide anymore. No ruby choker, no pretenses, no theology to maintain. If the guards know that their Mistress fucked me until I couldn't walk, that's information I'm perfectly comfortable being public."
Kinvara pressed her lips together against a laugh that almost escaped. "You've changed."
"Have I?"
"The Melisandre I sailed with from Volantis would never have said that sentence."
"The Melisandre who sailed from Volantis was wearing a dead woman's face and praying to an empty sky." She met Kinvara's eyes. "This version is better."
Kinvara was quiet for a moment. The training yard sounds drifted up through the window — practice weapons clashing, a drill sergeant's bark, the distant rumble of Enoch's wings circling the eastern perimeter.
"She knew my secrets," Kinvara said. "Things I've never told anyone. The need to surrender control. Five thousand years of Red Faith hierarchy, and what I wanted underneath all of it was someone who could take the reins out of my hands and not drop them." She rubbed her inner thigh where the Mark pulsed beneath her vestments. "She read it off me in the first five minutes."
"She read mine too." Melisandre touched the bite on her ass through the fabric. "The masochism. I didn't even fully admit it to myself before she said it out loud. And then she acted on it immediately, and I —" She exhaled. "I came so hard from the biting that I blacked out for a second."
"I noticed. I thought she'd killed you."
"She gave me exactly what I needed and she didn't ask permission first. She just knew." Melisandre's voice dropped. "No one has ever known me like that. Not even me."
Below, a pair of Dragonborn sparred in the yard, their breath weapons flickering in controlled bursts. The morning was beautiful — clear sky, warm air, the distant glitter of the harbor.
"What would our lives look like without her?" Kinvara asked.
Melisandre's expression sobered. "I would still be wearing the ruby. Still pushing Stannis toward decisions that would have ended with a child on a pyre." She stopped. "I would have helped him burn Shireen. I know that now."
"And I would have kept the Faith together through sheer will, growing older behind a title, never admitting that the god I served might not hear me." Kinvara's tail curled against her leg. "We would have been less. Both of us."
"Less alive more like," Melisandre finished.
Silence between them. Below, the Dragonborn sparring pair disengaged, saluted each other, and moved to the water barrel.
"I will never do anything to lose this," Kinvara said quietly. "Never. Whatever she asks, whatever the empire needs, whatever the cost."
"Neither will I." Melisandre's red eyes burned. "I spent my whole life following a god who didn't answer. I am not losing the one who does."
"You two don't have to worry about that."
They both jumped.
Angelus stood behind them, Dragonborn form, fully dressed, having apparently materialized from nowhere. Her clawed hands found both their asses simultaneously — one palm on Kinvara's right cheek, one on Melisandre's left — and squeezed.
"Because I'm never letting you go." Her voice dropped to a growl that resonated through her chest and into both their bodies through the points of contact. "And even if you did leave, I'd just drag you back in and fuck you into submission until you remembered who you belong to."
Kinvara's breath stuttered. Melisandre's scales flushed dark.
"Now come on," Angelus said, her hands staying exactly where they were. "We have an empire to run."
They walked down the corridor together, Angelus's hands on their asses, the morning sun warm through the windows, and not one of them looked back.
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End of Chapter Forty-Eight