The Queen of Love and Beauty

A crown of red roses was placed on the tip of Lyonel's lance, and the cheering crowd once more fell silent in anticipation to see who their champion would name as his queen of love and beauty. Sansa is of course the obvious choice, the tourney is held partially to honour his betrothal to her after all, but she was still indisposed and had left the arena hours ago, meaning, technically, anyone can win the crown. The realization spread through the crowd in a wave of restlessness, and Lyonel could see that his father and the Hand looked especially uncomfortable. Of course, Lyonel thought. The last time a tourney of this magnificence was held, the crown prince won by defeating a knight of the kingsguard, just like this. He then crowned the wrong woman, leading to one of the bloodiest wars in the history of the continent, and ended with the toppling of the ruling dynasty. With this new realization in mind, and aware of the massive implications his decision would have, Lyonel looked around the arena, trying to find the person most worthy of the crown.

The prince looked at the stands where the rich, merchant class were, where his maid Bella sat between her mother and father. Crowning her would, at least in some ways, be a safe choice, as she is his oldest friend, and her family, being merchants, played a smaller role in politics than a noble family. However, there are always rumours about princes and maids which would then be exasperated, and nearly the entirety of the nobility would be offended with such an action. No, Bella is out of the question.

Looking closer at the royal stands, Lyonel saw the lady Margaery Tyrell, resplendent in green and gloriously beautiful. He can crown her and say that it was a decision to honour his aunt by marriage and neither Renly nor the Tyrells would mind. However, Margaery Tyrell is always beset by scandals and rumours at court, and he didn't want to be part of that. Not to mention, he had just risked his life earlier that day to save Loras Tyrell. If he crowned another Tyrell in the same day, the nobility would see it as him throwing in his lot with the Tyrell faction, ruining the delicate balance of power at court and destroying his image as a neutral centrist amongst all that power squabbles. Not Margaery, then.

Almost reluctantly, Lyonel's eyes moved to Arya, the choice his heart is telling him to pick. She smiled encouragingly at him, as if she was sure he would pick her. It would make sense politically too. With Sansa absent, and Arya being her closest female family member present, tradition dictates that he should crown the sister in the absence of his betrothed. It all made sense. And yet, he couldn't. People were already talking about their long hours spent at 'dancing lessons' and the extremely scandalous dress Arya wore, while enthralling, was now like a red flag. If he brought the entire realm's attention to her now, it could be the spark that lights up a bonfire of rumours, and rumour is one multi eyed, multi tongued monster that even the mightiest prince cannot slay.

His mother, too, was there. The voluptuous, radiant Light of the West was someone who fascinated him ever since he saw her. And yet...

Lyonel urged his horse forward, and Arya's smile broadened... until it fell as he rode past her.

The prince lifted his lance... and placed the crown of red roses on the lap of his sister, Myrcella Baratheon. The king breathed a sigh of relief, while the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Myrcella rose to her feet, triumphant in red and gold. She raised the crown in her white hands for all the realm to see, before placing it atop her golden head, and waved at the cheering masses.

Amidst all that, almost no one noticed a stony-faced Arya blending in with the crowds and storming out of the arena.

A few hours later, as the sun was setting down, Lyonel sat in his room, wearing the Baratheon colours of black and gold for the feast to come. Ygritte knelt at his feet, applying the various ointments given to him by the grand maester to his bruised hand, while the captain of his guard, Jarrick stood in front of him, answering his questions about the day, in the calm, neutral manner the rust bearded captain is wont to do.

"Your instructions were followed to the letter, your grace," Jarrick was saying. "That matter is settled."

"Good, good," the prince replied, somewhat absentmindedly. "I'll revisit that issue later. What about Sansa Stark?"

"I myself personally went to deliver your message to her, your grace, but lady Sansa was too sick to receive it. Her Septa promised to relay it, along with your well wishes to her."

Lyonel frowned, remembering the sudden 'sickness' that had engulfed John Arryn less than half a year ago. That too started with a sudden stomachache. "You don't think there was any foul play involved do you?"

"Oh no, my prince. It just seemed like the lady ate some food that did not agree with her. Maester Pycelle himself tended for the lass and said that she would be fine in a day or two."

"Hmm," Lyonel sighed, still troubled but somewhat reassured. "And what of Arya?"

Jarrick took some time before replying. "The lady Arya came sooner than expected, so there was none of our lads in the Tower of the Hand to see what was going on with her. By the time they got there, lady Arya was leaving with a stranger, whom she seemed close with."

"A stranger?"

"Aye. She was dressed and spoke all queer like, as far as the lads saw of her. A friend from the North, mayhaps?"

"Perhaps. And where is Arya now?"

"She left with the stranger to the Godswood, and has not come out since."

Lyonel cursed. While he had an extensive spy network spread throughout the tunnels of Red Keep, the Godswood is one place where the tunnels did not extend. And knowing Arya, she would be quite furious at being overlooked today. That is yet another matter he had to tend to, though not today. He still had to play the role of the gallant prince for hours to come.

"My thanks Jerrick. You can leave now."

The soldier bowed and left for his position outside his room.

"You are pulling on a lot of threads, Lyonel," Ygritte said in a warning voice.

"I know, I know." the prince replied with a sigh.

"Be careful with all of them."

"Maybe you can help me by clearing out my head a little bit," Lyonel said with a roguish smile to the redheaded wildling.

"I can't. I have to go to my mistress now," Ygritte replied, rolling her eyes while getting to her feet.

"She can wait."

"No, she can't. And it's your fault too, crowning her of all people. She'll be insufferable now and will demand the help of all her maids to look good for the feast tonight."

With that, Ygritte kissed Lyonel and left him in the room alone with his many thoughts and plans on what he must do next.

The tourney that was held that day was the greatest the continent has seen in a generation, and the feast that night reflected that grandeur. Almost every noble family now sat at the bowels of the Red Keep, dressed in their best clothes, ready for a night full of posturing.

The royal family and the family of the betrothed sat at the main table. The king, of course, took the center stage. Cersei and Tommen sat to his left, while Lyonel, his heir and the champion of the day, sat to his right. The other end of the table was reserved for family of the betrothed, but only Ned Stark and his son Bran were present, with both Stark girls conspicuously absent.

Lyonel's eyes, however, was glued to his right, where Myrcella sat. For the first time in her life, she had foregone the Lannister red and gold and has instead decided to wear a dress Baratheon black and gold. Despite her clearly Lannister features, Myrcella's dress and bearing looked for the first time that of a Baratheon princess. Around her neck was a heavy gold chain, half necklace and half locket. The middle link of the chain was an obsidian square with a stag engraved in it, which lay in contrast between her white breasts, the top of them being proudly displayed by her dress. Crowning it all (quite literally) was the wreath of red roses that he had gifted her earlier that day. Every few minutes Myrcella's hand would dart to the crown, and a small, triumphant smile would come to the corner of her lips every time she touched it.

The feast began with King Robert rising to his feet and lifting his goblet in order to deliver the opening lines. "Lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, I thank you for attending today for this magnificent tourney and this feast! And I am happy and proud to say that your prince, my son, has distinguished himself so well in this tourney!" A misty look fell on Robert's blue eyes as he began to go off script. "Ahh, it reminds me of my own young days, when I could beat any prancing prick off his horse with just a stick!"

A slight cough that could only be heard in that table came from Lord Stark.

"Yes, yes!" Robert said, coming back to the present. "Bloody Ned thinks that I can't get through one speech without boasting about myself! What he doesn't know is that I can boast about my son for days as well!"

The king roared in laughter while the nobility followed faithfully.

"But this isn't just about Prince Lyonel either. For, as you well know, today will mark the official betrothal of my son to Lord Stark's eldest daughter, Sansa Stark!"

Hearty applause and cheers followed.

"Yes, yes! Finally, the houses of Stark and Baratheon will be united in marriage, as they were always meant to be!"

More applause, though in the corner of his eye, Lyonel saw his mother flinching at the reference to Lyanna Stark. Some wounds never heal, even after twenty years.

"Now," Robert continued. "The lady Sansa is unfortunately not present at the feast, because she has taken ill." Appropriate sounds of empathy came from the crowd. "But Lyonel will have a lifetime with her to get the lass familiar with the rich food from the South!"

More enthusiastic cheering.

Robert raised his goblet. "My lords! Let us toast to Prince Lyonel and the Lady Sansa! May they have a long, happy wedded life and bring many children to this world under the light of the Seven!"

Cheering and toasting followed the statement.

Robert sat down. "See. I can make a short bloody speech!" he announced to the table, to the amusement to his son and his friend.

Myrcella, whose good mood was temporarily spoiled by all the mentions to her rival, now stood up, gracious and glorious. Fulfilling the traditional duties of the Queen of Love and Beauty to the champion that crowned her, Myrcella filled Lyonel's goblet and offered it to her. "My champion, my brother," she declared, in the half mocking, half caring smile that she was so masterful at.

Lyonel, enthralled at her sister's beauty, smiled and drank.

The feast went well, as well as it could go. Lord Stark, never the man for festivities, resigned himself early to check on the well-being of his daughters. His father was disappointed, Lyonel knew, as this feast was as much for the Starks' sake as for his, but without Sansa there, it must have appeared a bit pointless for the other Starks present. Other than that, the feast went without any problems. Lyonel supped with the Tyrells, as he had promised, and when that offended his family, he danced with both his sister and his mother plenty of times.

The only other moment of excitement came in regard to Tommen. Now that Lyonel was officially betrothed, his brother had become the most eligible bachelor in the Realm. Halfway through the feast, Tommen had found himself surrounded by a half dozen pretty ladies, all making suggestive comments at the shy boy and making him very uncomfortable. When one lady nearly flashed her nipple at Tommen, he almost feinted in shock. Fortunately, his siblings came to the rescue, his handsome brother distracting the ladies while his sister escorted him to his room.

And now, Lyonel strode through tourney grounds, where a much wilder party raged on. Bonfires were lit intermittently, around which knights and sellswords danced with maids and townswomen, the strict class boundaries of Westerosi society forgotten for a night of revelry. The dancing often turned raunchy as they went on, and more often than not, pairs broke away from the dance to go into one of the many tents littered across the tourney grounds.

Lyonel strode through these revelries, strangely lightheaded. At first, he was accompanied by Renly and Loras, but now he strode alone, drinking in the atmosphere of this great new world he had found himself in.

It was in such a moment when the two ladies stepped in front of them. One was thin and tall, with Chesnut hair and good, apple sized breasts, who introduced herself as Lya. The other was blond and round, with much bigger breasts... four of them spinning around! Or no, they recentered into just two, yet still abundant melons. **** be damned, such a fine vision and then it's merely an illusion. She introduces herself as Mina and the gentleman he is, of course he looks up to her face for that. Praise be to the ****, because focusing his slightly dazed eyes on her mundane face makes these titties in his view's periphery start swimming around in multiples again. Wonderful. They looked vaguely familiar, the faces, not those breasts, and by their speech and their dress they were castle maids, though the strings at the front of their dresses have been unlaced to show an indecent amount of cleavage.

"And wh-what can I do for you, my ladies?" Lyonel asked courteously, his stance still firm from rigorous training, yet his speech slightly impaired from the missing drinking training. Maybe an additional feast or two with his dad would solve that.

"Well," Lya, who seemed to be the bolder one, answered. "My friend and I had a bet on if you were as strong on the bed as you are on the field, if your lance is actually strong to go round after round as it did this morning. We just want to find that out, that's all."

"Ladies, ladies, I am truly flattered, but I am betrothed." The fact that he said that aimed a bit lower than their faces might be the reason the two of them were still emboldened enough to continue.

"But not married, yet," Mina pointed out. "Lady Stark is a lucky girl to wed a man as handsome as you, but she will be luckier still if you went to the marriage bed with everything we teach you."

Lyonel couldn't help but give in. It had been a long, stimulating day, and the idea of fucking both of these pretty girls at once tempted him too much. Too much? You're a prince in this world, equipped with background knowledge on not just the events of the past 300 years, but also the literal future, get a hold of yourself! A moment of clarity shook Lyonel and he was about to politely decline, but while the two women were pulling him away with all their might, he saw the three pairs of melons shake too. I guess one night won't hurt? With a grudging smile, the prince let the two girls drag him by hand into a tent cluttered with the odd piece of furniture or too.

The girls undressed. Lya's breasts were indeed the size of his apples, while a small brown bush grew on her crotch. Mina's breasts were more than twice the size of his hand, and she was clean shaven.

Lyonel stepped eagerly towards them, but Lya stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. "No. You sit."

"Are you daring t-to order a prince?" he asked with a smile, a slight hiccup supressed.

"Yes," Lya answered emphatically.

Intrigued by this more than he thought he'd be, Lyonel sat down. Not a bad move, considering his balance returned so much while sitting, that he must have been about to lose it fully.

"We want to test your true mettle, you see," Lya said, while giving a bundle of ropes to her friend. "Tie him up!" she said before looking at me. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Be my guest."

The chubby girl knelt behind him and tied his hands behind the chair. The moment that was done, however, a black bag fell over his head. Lyonel wasn't panicking, however. It was clear that these were castle bred girls. The knot on his hands were loose, and he could easily break free if he wanted to. So, he decided to wait it out and see what was going on.

He could hear the flap of the tent open, and a figure stepping in.

"Good day!" Lyonel called out cheerfully in his most infuriating voice. "May I know who this is?"

"My name is Lady Linn," a voice, odd and familiar at the same time, spoke out.

"Well, my lady Linn, may I ask you to join the three of us? Oh, and this blindfold is quite unnecessary. You don't have to be self-conscious; I am drunk and horny enough to even fuck an ugly woman."

"Shut up!" the voice snapped in a different tone, confirming his suspicions that this woman was using a false voice, but was not used to it and doing it inconsistently.

"Uhh, Lady Linn," the blonde, Mina, called out, clearly worried about messing with the crown prince. "Is this safe?"

"Of course," the leader snapped. "I gave him a bigger dose of the potion than what even the maester recommended. He wouldn't remember anything come morning. He probably doesn't even know what's happening right now!"

Those words helped cut the fog in his head in half for a moment. Lyonel put the puzzle pieces together in his head. The familiar voice, someone who had given him a drink earlier today... when Lyonel realized who his captor was, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Very well, Myrcella, the prince thought his excitement and playfulness increased by the condition they had put him under, you've always loved your little games. I'll play along, for now.

"Anyway, enough of all this!" his sister, for it is quite certainly Myrcella, snapped. "We don't have much time. Let's confirm if all those rumours are true! Ladies, off with his pants!"

Suddenly, two pairs of hands tugged on his trousers, and an amused and a still very conscious and amused Lyonel helped them by lifting his hips. When his trousers came off, silence reigned in the tent.

Mina, the blonde, seemed to be kneeling to his left, and he could hear her whimper. "It's... It's..."

"-so big!" Lya finished the sentence from his right.

Two hands from either side struck forward and stroked his cock, very lightly, as if they couldn't believe it was made of real flesh.

"Oh... oh it's nothing," Myrcella stammered, trying to recover. "Vulgar thing really."

A single finger went under his cock. "And so unreasonably heavy!"

"Oh look!" Mina squealed. "Look at his balls! Look how big they are!

A hand from his right side, probably Lya's, went and touched his balls, and immediately withdrew them. "Ugh, they are all sweaty!"

"But you just licked your hands!" Mina accused her friend in a shocked voice.

"Because even his sweat tastes good!" Lya moaned, before sticking her hands between his balls once again.

"Nonsense!" Myrcella snapped. "I'll see it for myself. Take your hands away!"

Lyonel could feel the hand withdraw, and after a few seconds, breath falling upon his testicles. When he realized his sister was sniffing his balls, Lyonel got even more harder.

"Oh look!" Mina shouted. "That white stuff is coming from the top!"

"Yes, how foul," Myrcella muttered... before kissing his cockhead. Lyonel groaned while the two maids gasped, but Myrcella did not stop, licking, kissing, and swallowing her brother's cock.

"Um, my lady?" Lya ventured. "May I try it as well?"

Myrcella removed herself from her brother's cock with a gasp. "Ugh, fine!" she bent his cock to his right, and a different mouth sucked on it. A few seconds later, she gave the same privilege to Mina.

"That's enough! I didn't take out Sansa Stark from the tourney today just so the likes of you can suck this! This cock is mine!" Myrcella said, before going back to work on his cock. Later, he could feel another set of lips on his balls, which he assumed was Lya's, the girl who loved the taste of his sweat. Mina joined her soon afterwards.

It didn't take long for Lyonel to cum, and he would have loved to see his sister covered in his cum. But he was drunk, exhausted, maybe ****, and he soon fell into a blissful sleep. The last he heard was Myrcella's complaints. "No! No, don't suck on me! This is my cum! Look, you can drink that patch there, that one on the sand!"

Lyonel woke up hours later, with the first rays of the sun piercing the tent. His head hurt, a little thumping noise somewhere in the back of it. His back ached from apparently sitting the whole night. His junk- felt pretty fine actually, as if someone had paid reverent attention to it. A triumphant smile spread on the prince's lips when he thought about having spent the nightly hours in company. But quite peculiar company, he thought, as he noticed the flimsy blindfold half shrouding his eyes, as well as the bindings around his arms and some fixating his legs to the chairs legs. He easily broke through the knots and removed the blindfold.

The events of last night felt like a hazy dream, he had charmed up a lass... no two lasses! Or was it three? He brought them to his tent and... and then they wanted to play a game of mystery and... His sister! With a burst Lyonel stood up and realized who had "seduced" him last night! He did not remember her face last night any time after the feast, not really at least, but that voice, his sister's entitled, bratty voice. He had no idea what she had said or even if they actually talked, but that bratty superiority somehow still rang in his ears. It was absurd, the princess all prim and proper, hawking down on her drunken brother, but as Lyonel looked down, the red marks on his cock said otherwise.

Very well, Myrcella, Lyonel thought, rubbing his sister's lip marks off his cock. I'll play along with this game of yours. For now.