Chapter 1: The Unsated Bride
The stone walls of Blackridge Keep echoed with the clinking of goblets and the forced laughter of a wedding feast. Lord Glyn, formerly of the wood in the riverlands, now master of this rugged mountain holding in the Westerlands, sat at the high table, his chest puffed with pride. His new bride, Lady Elyse, a bastard daughter of a Lannister, shimmered beside him in a gown of gold and crimson, her blonde hair cascading over curves that could stop a man’s heart. At nineteen, she was a vision, and the dowry that came with her was a treasure to rival Casterly Rock itself. But beneath her demure smiles, a storm brewed.
Elyse sipped her wine, her sharp green eyes scanning the hall. She’d played the blushing bride well enough through the ceremony, but now, as the night deepened, her thoughts were far from the man at her side. Glyn was handsome in a rugged, battle-worn way, but she’d heard the whispers of his... shortcomings. And she wasn’t one to settle for less than she deserved. Virgin? Hardly. She’d tasted pleasure before, in secret trysts with a stablehand who knew how to wield more than a pitchfork. The memory of his rough hands and relentless stamina made her thighs clench under the table.
'Enjoying the feast, my lady?' Glyn’s voice cut through her reverie, his tone thick with ale and self-satisfaction.
Elyse turned to him, a smirk playing on her lips. 'Oh, immensely, my lord. Though I confess, I’m eager for the... private celebrations to begin.' Her voice dripped with honeyed promise, but her mind was already plotting. She’d give him his moment, let him think he’d claimed her, and then she’d find what she truly craved.
Glyn’s eyes gleamed, mistaking her words for innocence. 'Patience, my sweet. Soon enough, you’ll know the strength of a riverlord.'
She bit back a laugh, her gaze flicking to his lap. 'I’m sure it’ll be... unforgettable.'
Hours later, in the flickering candlelight of their chambers, the truth unfolded with pitiful speed. Glyn’s breeches dropped, revealing a cock that barely warranted the name—three inches at best, trembling with premature excitement. Elyse lay back on the furs, her body a feast of curves and unspoken hunger, as he climbed atop her. He entered with a grunt, his thrusts awkward and over in mere seconds. He came with a shudder, collapsing beside her, panting and sweating as if he’d scaled the mountain itself.
'Was it... was it good for you, my love?' he mumbled, already half-asleep.
Elyse stared at the ceiling, her pussy untouched by satisfaction, wet with unmet need. 'Oh, my lord,' she purred, her voice laced with mockery he didn’t catch, 'you’ve no idea how much you’ve... inspired me.'
As Glyn’s snores filled the room, Elyse slipped from the bed, her mind ablaze. She wasn’t some wilting flower to wilt under disappointment. She was a Lannister, bastard or not, and she’d have her pleasure. Her eyes drifted to the window, where the guard tower loomed under the moonlight. She’d seen the captain of the guard earlier—a broad-shouldered beast of a man with a smirk that promised sin. Her body ached, dripping with a horny desperation she refused to ignore.
Throwing a silk robe over her naked form, she stepped into the cool night air, her heart racing with intent. She’d have her satisfaction, even if she had to climb every man in this keep to find it. And as she approached the tower, the captain’s silhouette appeared, his gaze locking with hers—a predator meeting its match.
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