Exhausted but satisfied, I finally collapsed onto the large bed with both women curled against me, their bodies once again marked and filled with my cum.
The night had been extremely productive.
---
The dinner continued under a thin veneer of civility, but the undercurrents were far more dangerous than any battlefield.
Lord Valthor Targaryen sat at the head of the table like a statue carved from ancient stone. His silver hair was streaked with faint traces of age, yet his presence remained overwhelming — the kind of man who had crushed entire rival clans with his bare hands in his prime. He ate slowly, methodically, gray eyes occasionally flicking across the table with calculated calm.
But I could feel it.
His gaze lingered on me a fraction longer than necessary. On my mother's subtle movements. On the faint flush that refused to leave Elizabeth's cheeks. On the way Sylvia's fingers tightened around her wine glass every time our mother leaned slightly toward me.
