Woosh!
Joffrey summoned Rh'llor's flames on Widow's Wail, his Valyrian steel sword with its beautiful red and black ripples.
"Blessed be the Seven!" Leyton Hightower breathed, eyes gleaming like storm-tossed seas. "I knew it. I have seen it in the flames, in the stars above Oldtown. This day was always meant to come. I am honored, Your Grace."
Joffrey softly smiled and sheathed his sword back, returning to his comfortable seat. He was in Oldtown, and right before him sat the mostly senile, magic-obsessed Leyton Hightower. The man was old, on the verge of withering. The light in his eyes had dimmed, but his will to study magic remained strong.
Considering that Lord Mace Tyrell's wife, Alerie Hightower, was this man's third child, it was a good estimate of how old he was. Yet, the man still ruled House Hightower with wits, and having him at his side was a blessing.
Although he'd taken away the Reach from the Tyrells, it was impossible to hold it fully without the support of the Hightowers.
"You should have seen the dragons, Lord Leyton. Majestic beasts. There's nothing in this world like riding them." He paused, his gaze distant for a moment, thinking of Daenerys… and the child she carried. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But my wife—Daenerys—is untouched by flame."
"Ah! The blood of old Valyria burns bright in that one," Leyton exclaimed, listening to Joffrey like he was some prophet.
Joffrey had already fulfilled all his promises to Leyton. The promises he made during the siege of Highgarden. He'd already told Leyton about the Targaryen prophecy and the threat of the White Walkers and even handed him some books about magic. Straight out of the Far East.
"That may be so," Joffrey said, dismissing it with a wave. "I expect they're finished with their task by now. You will send ravens to the other Lords—make it clear what comes of ignoring the threat beyond the Wall. What happened to House Costayne, Blackbar, and Florent shall not be uncommon. It will be expected. I won't march North until the realm is made ready."
True to his threats, Joffrey had just erased three noble houses from existence. House Costayne, Blackbar, and Florent had refused the call for arms by the Iron Throne and dismissed the threat of the White Walkers even after seeing the wraith. They refused to send men or coin.
Joffrey marched an army of fifty thousand men of Crownlands, Stormlands, and a thousand of his Golden Legion Unsullied. Fitted with ten trebuchets and Wildfire Scorpions, the intent was clear.
Since Joffrey had taken over the Reach by conquest, it was also the Reach that opposed him the most. Even though the strongest houses, like Redwyne and Hightower, had already sworn their allegiance to him, many houses remained feral.
And that was why Joffrey marched personally to tame them.
Well, not personally. Since he relaxed and enjoyed the hospitality of Lord Hightower while his armies lay ruin to the three noble houses not too far from Oldtown.
"Since it's approaching night, I suppose I'll take my leave of your fine hospitality come morning, Lord Leyton." Joffrey rose, seizing his sword.
"You are welcome to stay as long as it pleases you, Your Grace," Lord Leyton followed suit and got up weakly. "Come… the hour is late, and the cooks have likely finished their mutterings over the broth."
Joffrey followed the old lord to supper. Behind him, Arya followed, equipped in fine armor, acting as his guard. But he didn't treat her as one, inviting her to eat with him at the table. She was still Arya of House Stark, after all.
After supper, with nothing else to do, he retired to his prepared bedchamber.
"We ride for Highgarden at first light," he declared, stripping off his garments without a care, standing bare as the day he was born. "Ellaria Sand awaits me there… to discuss Dorne's surrender."
"Surrender?" Arya asked, also removing her armor and then all her clothes until nothing covered her fine, tight, and warrior-like frame. She'd grown into young adulthood finer than most, her tits now at least big enough to fill her lover's grasp and her ass was on a smaller yet rounder side.
Joffrey retreated to the bed and laid down, back against a mountain of pillows, his legs sprawled, cock awake and erect, inviting his Stark paramour. "I'd rather call it surrender. With Oberyn crippled beyond recognition, the man's as good as dead. No arms, no legs, mangled face. He breathes and eats because others make him. Arianne Martell is a whore no lord will take, and Doran's a blind fool. If Dorne is to survive, the crown is its only refuge."
"Hmm…" Arya hummed and crawled onto the bed. Reaching for him from his legs, she slid her petite frame like a snake, slithering her perky swells over his shins, then knees. Her lips pecked a kiss on his cock before her body moved up, eventually overlapping Joffrey's body, face to face, his arms tightly wrapped around, his hands freely fondling her ass.
Arya had gotten used to her role, clearly. Willingly aiding the King in his hunt for bodily pleasure.
Joffrey welcomed her drooling, soft lips and kissed back. While his hands felt the warmth of her sinful, bubbly ass, he savored the heat of her tongue. There was no more shame remaining as they fully utilized their tongues, eating out each other one breath at a time.
Arya eventually spread her legs and straddled him. She slid her sopping cunt against his length, back and forth like a ritual practiced more than they could count.
But it wasn't a wrong assumption. The reason Joffrey had brought her along was to break any remaining doubt she had in her mind. While he believed he'd fully domesticated Sansa, he feared Arya would revolt when he'd bring Catelyn to the bed.
So, over the last ten days, he'd fucked his beautiful, sworn knight on days and nights. With nothing else to do in Oldtown, he'd fuck her before sleep, after waking up, and anytime he felt like doing it in the middle of the day.
Eventually, Arya settled into her role well. She began seeking pleasure from him on occasion.
"Ellaria Sand has the Sand Snakes under her control. I wouldn't be surprised if she takes over someday. Perhaps that's why she wants to see me." Joffrey added, ending their liplock.
"Ummmh…" Arya then raised her hips and willingly aimed his cock at her needy entrance. She frowned, bit her lips, and lowered herself. Despite doing it daily multiple times, she still felt the faint sting at first.
Joffrey was too good, too blessed with a fine cock, she thought. He filled her so well that no space was left. Her walls stretched, pussy screaming at her for the third probe of the day. Truly, she was already sore, but seeing Joffrey's erection, she couldn't hold back.
The sensation of his cock striking deep and stretching her insides was an intoxicating feeling. Initially, she couldn't understand what was so good about fucking all the time. Now she knew it. But a sizable cock was the most important thing to draw pleasure.
Thankfully, her lover was well hung and masterful at using his tool.
"Aaaah!" Arya moaned as she finally welcomed all of his length in. She felt her insides shift, making way for the incoming, rough plowing. His hands were already warning her, pinching her feminine, stiff nipples.
"And… will you be using this… sword to tame her?"
"It's never failed me, so I don't see the need to ignore that option," he replied, and clawed her tits tight before pulling her down onto his chest. "Now stop talking about Oberyn's whore. Let me taste my lovely sworn knight."
"The first female knight of Westeros." Arya corrected him and dragged her hips up, agonizingly so.
Joffrey smiled and pulled her face closer for a kiss.
That was merely the start of their nightly ritual. Eventually, Joffrey rolled over and pinned her down, hauling one leg over his shoulder before slamming into her choking cunt. He truly relished her tight flower more than most. Absolutely tight and due to her constant training, her walls clamped him just right, like a beating heart.
So flexible, he relished bending her to his desire, and the only response she'd give was louder moans. Panting breaths, drenched in sweat, it was a regular routine to them.
Eventually, after making Arya climax a few times, as every other night, Joffrey gushed a thick, virile batter of his seeds inside her fertile womb. It was by choice, as he'd gotten Arya comfortable with regular Moon Tea.
Finally, he kissed her lips until out of breath before cuddling her close and falling asleep in each other's arms.
Truly, he loved being the King.
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This story is coming to an end in chapter 43.
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