As I looked at Aegon, I could see the faint lines on his face and the expression that he held. The expression spoke of certainty and conviction, the conviction of a man fully aware of the weight behind every syllable he had uttered.
Although the jest was still in his tone, it wasn't idle anymore. His tongue didn't slip when each word left his lips. Most importantly, he had stopped mocking, an unquestionable indication he intended to let his last words sink in.
A shiver ran through me, even in a boiling furnace, but I forced my shoulders to stay loose and my gaze away from Aegon's. Fortunately, my face didn't betray me as I submerged myself a bit deeper into my gurgling bath.
An unwelcome itch, born from this whole damned ordeal, began to stir down there, prickling the entire area between my legs and making me restless and uncomfortable.
Truthfully, it was nothing unfamiliar.
I had learned well enough how to weather such tides, for Aegon's attentions were more often squandered upon Rhaenys.
During baths such as this, I often saw to the matter myself. Simply with the use of my fingers, I let the steam and water loosen every knot until release claimed me. At times, my maid would tend to me instead. That one was far more pleasurable.
But Aegon had ruined this bath, fouling the air with his words and his gaze, and there was no chance I could simply part my thighs, scrub, and sigh my way to relief with him sitting there like a warden.
So I did the only thing left to me—resume my bath.
I slid lower into the water, let the steam curl around my face, and carried on. Neither of us spoke, and the silence between us felt heavier than the heat itself.
'But how does he know?'
I thought as I began to tend to my skin meticulously while Aegon watched. If he meant to sit there and spectate, then I would give him something worth watching. Let him drink his fill with those bold eyes—my wrist, the smoothness of my shoulders, the arch of my back, and the sculpture of my calves and feet.
I flaunted what was mine, daring my husband to compare me to Rhaenys and see who truly wore the crown of beauty.
'Has my brother developed sorcery?'
'Am I not the only sorcerer in the family?'
'Is this the works of the Demon Lord?'
How, in the name of our ancestors, had Aegon survived the Widow's Blood I poured into his wine, very late at night by this time yesterday?
The cursed draught should have slowed his heart to a crawl, stolen his breath before dawn, and left him lying cold in his chamber before the first morning bell.
By all rights, I should be Visenya Targaryen, sole Lady of Dragonstone at this moment.
Yet here my younger brother was, alive and hearty. Most altering of all, he was composed.
He knew.
Since Aegon was aware I had tried to kill him, there was no use in denying it. Feigning ignorance now would only create more cracks in what was already a fractured foundation between us. I had to own my indulgence. Seeing his laid-back demeanour, I believed he was giving me a chance to do so.
And there was also no need for me to offer explanations or excuses; such things would not soften what it was. Call it a crime, call it treason—it mattered little. If he wished, my brother could have me dragged from here in chains before the hour was out.
I took a very deep breath.
Slowly, I rose from the bath. Aegon hadn't expected me to rise so suddenly. His composure wavered for the briefest moment, fascinated by the steam that erupted around me and the glistening water sliding down my skin.
I turned, giving him an unabashed view of my bare buttocks and the smooth length of my back, before lifting one long leg, then the other, to step from the boiling tub.
Walking over stone and rug, dripping wet, I came to stand before the fireplace. Naked, I fixed my gaze upon the flames, feeling their heat mingle with the lingering warmth of the bath.
"Desiccate."
I whispered a spell in my mother's tongue, and my skin began to dry slowly without the use of a cloth. I knew Aegon, behind me, could see the ringlets and waves of vapour drifting up and away from my body much faster than the steam from the bath itself.
"And… what kind of sorcery is that?"
He asked me as if he were inquiring about something as simple as the weather. I didn't bother turning to face him.
"We don't waste time categorising and naming spells, brother. At least, not me."
I replied, letting the magic ebb before my skin was fully dry. I wanted myself damp, not completely dry. And after that, I turned to face Aegon, showing him every feature of my female body.
Aegon's eyes remained calm even as I approached, with my shadow fully fallen on him.
I stopped directly before him, standing tall while he remained seated on the bed. Aegon had to tilt his gaze upward to reach mine, where two sets of violets met.
I placed my hands possessively on my brother's silver hair and threaded my fingers through each strand. Of the three of us, his was the softest kind. Since it was virgin, untouched by any braid, his hair was looser and free even at the roots.
It made me remember our childhood after Mother's early demise. Being the only woman figure left in Aegon's life, I tasked myself with a few nurturing things, like running my small fingers through his hair as he dozed against my lap.
And as much as I loved petting my younger brother's hair, he had always loved being touched there just as much.
In answer to my love, Aegon slid his arms around my waist and held me with claim, the firelight casting our shadows together across the chamber walls.
It didn't take long before closeness demanded more.
My fingers were still purring over Aegon's hair as his mouth descended to the thick bush between my thighs. Aegon kissed there with devotion, sending a shiver through me, but his firm grip around my waist held me in place.
"Haa…"
I gasped as my husband squeezed my buttocks hard while he nibbled and sucked at the nasty slick of my cunt.
"Oh… fffuck, Aego…"