Not when it had already carved its path so deeply into his flesh.

---

The deeper he ventured into the island’s woods, the more the air seemed to thicken, the shadows growing longer as the sun began its slow descent.

He found dry wood eventually—branches snapped from the lower boughs of the weirwoods, their pale bark peeling away to reveal the dark heartwood beneath.

He gathered an armful, then spotted a cluster of wild berries, their dark fruit glistening among the leaves.

He plucked what and as much as he could, tasting one cautiously.

Tart, but not bitter yet a tang of darkness he could not place yet. Safe.

By the time he returned to the shore where he had left Selyse, the sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the lake in shades of gold and crimson.

She was where he had left her, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, her cloak pulled tight.

She looked up as he approached, her expression unreadable.

"You were gone a long time," she said.

Lyonel dropped the wood and berries beside her. "Had to go deep to find what we needed."

He didn’t mention the skeleton. Didn’t mention the sword.

Some secrets were better kept close to the chest.

She eyed the berries, then plucked one from the pile, popping it into her mouth.

"These will do," she said after a moment. "Thank you."

He knelt, arranging the wood into a pyramid, striking his flint until a spark caught the dry tinder.

The fire took hold slowly, its flames licking at the wood before roaring to life, casting flickering light over Selyse’s face.

She sighed, holding her hands out to the warmth.

"Tell me," she said suddenly, her voice quiet. "Why did you really save me?"

Lyonel looked at her, the firelight dancing in her dark eyes. "Does it matter?"

She held his gaze. "It does to me."

He considered the question, the weight of it settling in his chest. "Because no one else would," he said at last. "And because I could."

Selyse studied him for a long moment, then nodded, as if that were answer enough. She leaned back, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since he’d pulled her from the water.

"My mother will be worried," she murmured. "She’ll have sent men to look for me by now."

Lyonel glanced at the darkening lake, the water still restless. "We’ll cross at first light," he said. "When the current sleeps."

She didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for another berry, her fingers brushing his as she did.

The contact was fleeting, but it lingered in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed in the space of a single, **** day.

The fire crackled, the embers rising into the twilight like fireflies. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, its voice echoing through the ancient trees.

The Isle of Faces held them in its quiet embrace, its secrets buried deep, its silence unbroken.

And Lyonel Rivers, bastard son of a king, sat with a noblewoman at his side, a Valyrian blade hidden at his hip, and the weight of the past pressing down on them both like the shadows of the weirwoods.

The night was long, and the road ahead longer still. But for now, there was warmth.

There was life.

The fire crackled between them, its flames casting long, dancing shadows across Selyse’s face as she shifted uncomfortably on the damp earth.

The heat from the blaze was intense, the air thick with the scent of burning wood and the faint, musky tang of the lake still clinging to their skin.

Selyse’s fingers twitched at the laces of her bodice, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Gods, it’s so damned hot," she muttered, her voice thick with irritation.

"This dress is suffocating me."

Lyonel glanced at her from where he sat, sharpening the edge of a stick with his dagger.

The blade of Dark Sister lay beside him, its presence a silent weight against his thigh. He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he watched her fidget.

"You’re the one who insisted on keeping it on after I pulled you from the lake," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Now you’re complaining?"

Selyse shot him a glare, her fingers working frantically at the laces. "I wasn’t about to sit here half-naked in front of a stranger," she snapped, but her voice lacked its earlier bite.

The firelight flickered across her skin, highlighting the flush creeping up her neck, the way her chest rose and fell with each agitated breath.

Lyonel chuckled, deep and knowing. "Stranger?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"After I’ve seen you at your most ****?" His gaze darkened, lingering on the way her fingers trembled as they undid the last of the laces.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she shrugged out of the sodden fabric of her bodice, letting it pool around her waist.

The firelight played across the curves of her breasts, the nipples already tight from the cold and something else—something warmer, something hungrier.

Lyonel’s breath hitched in his throat, his fingers stilling on the stick.

The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken, something raw.

"What are you doing?" His voice was rougher now, the amusement in his tone replaced by something darker, something that coiled low in his gut.

Selyse didn’t look at him as she wriggled out of her skirts, kicking the damp fabric aside. "What does it look like?" she murmured, her voice husky.

"I’m hot. I’m wet. I’m alive, Lyonel." Her hands went to the ties of her shift, her fingers deft as she loosened them. "And I don’t want to be cold anymore."

The shift slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

She stood there, naked in the firelight, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, her body a landscape of shadows and gold.

Lyonel’s cock twitched against the confines of his breeches, hardening with a speed that made his head spin.

He should stop her.

He should.

This was madness—she was a noblewoman, a married woman, the daughter of the woman carrying his child.

But the way she looked at him, her dark eyes burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the fire, made his thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

"Selyse," he growled, a warning in his voice as he stood, his massive frame blocking the firelight. "You’re indecent."

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the soft earth.

"Indecent?" she repeated, her voice a purr. "Or just honest?" Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing against the bulge in his breeches.

"You’re hard," she murmured, her touch feather-light, teasing. "All for me."

Lyonel’s breath came sharp and fast, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“This isn’t right," he managed, but his voice lacked conviction. His body betrayed him, his cock straining against the fabric, aching for her touch.

"Since when do you care about what’s right?" Selyse’s fingers traced the length of him, her touch growing bolder.

"You’re a bastard, Lyonel. A warrior. A man who takes what he wants." Her hand cupped him through the fabric, squeezing just enough to make his hips jerk forward.

"So take."

That was all it took.

With a growl, Lyonel’s hands shot out, gripping her wrists and pulling her against him. His mouth crashed down onto hers, his kiss hungry, brutal, his tongue forcing its way past her lips.

Selyse moaned into him, her body arching against his, her nails digging into the thick muscle of his arms. He could taste the berries on her tongue, the salt of the lake still clinging to her skin, the sweet, musky scent of her arousal filling his senses.

His hands roamed her body, rough and possessive, his calloused fingers pinching her nipples until she gasped, her back arching.

"You’re a wicked little thing," he murmured against her lips, his voice a dark growl.

"A married woman, spreading her legs for a bastard like me."

Selyse’s breath hitched, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, her hand slipped between them, fumbling with the laces of his breeches.

"I don’t care," she whispered, her voice ****. "I want you. I have desired you since the day I saw your envious manhood releasing on that family whore Ami’s face. I want that big cock inside me, stretching me, filling me up until I can’t remember my own name."

Lyonel groaned, his control snapping. His breeches hit the ground a moment later, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Selyse’s eyes widened as she took him in, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Gods," she breathed. "You’re huge."

"And you’re going to take every inch," Lyonel growled, his hands gripping her hips and lifting her effortlessly.

He spun her around, pressing her back against the trunk of a weirwood, the pale bark cool against her heated skin. "Spread your legs, my lady."

Selyse obeyed without hesitation, her thighs parting, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she felt the head of his cock press against her slick folds.

"Please," she whimpered, her nails digging into the bark.

"Fuck me, Lyonel. Now."

He didn’t make her wait.

With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, his cock stretching her wide, filling her to the brim.

Selyse cried out, her body arching as she took him, her walls clenching around his length. "Fuck—!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "You’re so deep."

"And you’re so tight," Lyonel groaned, his hips snapping forward, driving into her with a rhythm that was all hunger and no gentleness.

The wet sounds of their coupling filled the air, the slap of skin against skin, the slickness of her arousal coating his cock with every thrust.

"You were made for this, weren’t you?" he growled, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

"Made to be fucked like a whore in the dirt."

"Yes!" Selyse cried, her head falling back against the tree. "Yes, yes—!" Her body moved with his, her hips rolling back to meet every thrust, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.

"Harder! Fuck me harder!"

Lyonel obliged.

His hands slid up her body, one gripping her throat lightly, tilting her head back so he could claim her mouth in another bruising kiss.

The other found her breast, his fingers twisting her nipple until she whimpered into his mouth.

His cock pistoned in and out of her, his balls slapping against her with every thrust, the pressure building low in his gut.

"I’m going to fill you up," he growled against her lips, his voice a dark promise.

"Going to pump you so full of my seed you’ll feel it dripping out of you for days."

Selyse moaned, her body tightening around him, her walls fluttering.

"Do it," she gasped.

"Breed me, Lyonel. Please."

That was all it took.

With a roar, Lyonel buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he emptied himself inside her, his cum flooding her womb in thick, hot spurts.

Selyse cried out, her own orgasm crashing over her, her body milking him for every last drop.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Lyonel’s forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, their bodies still joined.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, his cock glistening with their combined release.

Selyse whimpered at the loss, her thighs trembling, but Lyonel wasn’t done with her.

Not yet.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs and spreading them wide.

"Again," he growled, his tongue dragging through her slick folds, lapping up the mess he’d made of her.

"I’m not finished with you."

Selyse’s hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in the dark strands as his tongue found her clit.

"Lyonel—!" she gasped, her hips jerking forward. "I can’t—!"

"You can," he murmured against her flesh, his breath hot. "And you will."

His mouth sealed over her, his tongue working her with a skill that had her writhing in seconds.

She came again with a broken cry, her body shuddering as he drank her down.

But Lyonel wasn’t satisfied.

Not until he’d had his fill.

He rose to his feet, his cock already hardening again, thick and demanding.

Selyse’s eyes widened as she saw it, her lips parting. "Again?" she breathed.

"Again," Lyonel confirmed, his voice a dark promise. He gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly and turning her around.

"On your knees, my lady."

Selyse obeyed, sinking to the soft earth, her ass in the air, her body trembling with anticipation.

Lyonel didn’t make her wait. He gripped his cock, guiding it to her mouth. "Open," he commanded.

She did, her lips parting as he fed his length past them, her tongue swirling around the thick head.

"That’s it," he groaned, his hand tangling in her hair as he began to fuck her mouth, his hips snapping forward with controlled thrusts.

"Take it all, Selyse. Every inch."

She gagged around him, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging in as she took him deeper, her throat opening for him.

The wet, sloppy sounds of her sucking him off filled the air, her moans vibrating around his cock.

"Fuck, you’re good at that," Lyonel growled, his grip on her hair tightening.

"A proper little cocksucker, aren’t you?"

Selyse moaned around him, her eyes flicking up to meet his, dark and hungry.

She hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper, her tongue swirling around the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.

Lyonel’s breath came in sharp gasps, his hips stuttering as the pressure built.

"I’m going to come down that pretty throat," he warned, his voice rough.

"And you’re going to swallow every drop."

Selyse’s eyes fluttered closed as she nodded, her lips sealed tight around the base of his cock. That was all it took.

With a groan, Lyonel spilled down her throat, his cum flooding her mouth in thick spurts.

She swallowed around him, her throat working, her hands gripping his thighs as she took it all.

When he finally pulled free, she collapsed forward, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Lyonel dropped to the earth beside her, pulling her into his arms. She came willingly, her body pressing against his, her head resting on his chest.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The fire crackled between them, the embers glowing softly in the darkness.

The night air was cool against their heated skin, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air.

"You’re dangerous," Selyse murmured at last, her voice muffled against his chest.

Lyonel chuckled, the sound a low rumble. "So are you, my lady."

She didn’t argue. Instead, she cuddled closer, her arm draping over his waist, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin.

"What happens now?" she asked quietly.

Lyonel was silent for a long moment, his hand stroking her hair.

"Now," he said at last, his voice rough with exhaustion, "we sleep."

And with that, he pulled her tighter against him, her body fitting against his like a missing piece.

The fire burned low, the embers casting long shadows across their tangled limbs.

The godswood whispered around them, the ancient trees bearing silent witness to their sin.

And beneath the watchful eyes of the Isle of Faces, they drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

The first light of dawn filtered through the ancient weirwoods, painting the Isle of Faces in hues of gold and silver.

Lyonel stirred beneath the makeshift blanket of his cloak, the remnants of the fire now reduced to embers.

His body ached in the best way—muscles sore from exertion, skin still warm from the heat of Selyse’s touch.

But when he turned to reach for her, he found only the imprint of her body in the earth beside him.

Selyse stood a few paces away, her back to him, her hands fumbling with the laces of her shift.

The fabric clung to her skin, still damp from the lake, her movements stiff with something more than the morning chill.

Lyonel propped himself up on his elbows, watching her. The blush creeping up her neck was answer enough.

"You’re awake," she said, her voice too bright, too ****.

She didn’t turn to face him.

Lyonel pushed himself to his feet, stretching the kinks from his spine.

"Aye," he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. "And you’re dressed."

She finally glanced at him, her dark eyes flickering with something between embarrassment and defiance.

"What happened last night—" she began, then stopped, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "It was a mistake."

Lyonel crossed his arms over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You don’t sound convinced."

Selyse’s blush deepened, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her shift.

"It was," she insisted, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction. "I’m a married woman. You’re—you’re you."

"And yet," Lyonel drawled, stepping closer, "you spread those legs for me."

Her breath hitched, her body tensing as he invaded her space, his massive frame dwarfing hers.

"Don’t," she whispered, but there was no real protest in it.

Lyonel chuckled, low and knowing. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against the warm skin of her neck.

"We both know you’d do it again."

Selyse’s breath came faster, her pulse fluttering beneath his touch.

For a moment, he thought she might argue.

Instead, she let out a shaky exhale and turned her face away. "We should go," she muttered. "Before someone comes looking."

Lyonel didn’t push. He stepped back, giving her the space she so clearly needed.

"Aye," he agreed, already turning toward the water’s edge.

"But we’re not swimming that current in your condition. You’ll ride on my back."

Selyse opened her mouth to protest, but one look at the churning waters of the Gods Eye silenced her. She nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

---

The water was colder than Lyonel expected, the current pulling at them as he strove toward the distant shore.

Selyse clung to his back, her arms locked around his neck, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. He could feel the heat of her body against his skin, the way her breath hitched every time the water lapped too close to her face.

But she didn’t complain. She held on, her trust in him absolute.

By the time they reached the shore, Lyonel’s muscles burned with exertion, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

He collapsed onto the pebbled beach, Selyse tumbling beside him with a soft cry.

For a moment, they lay there, side by side, their chests heaving.

Then Ashford’s familiar snort cut through the silence.

The stallion stood a few paces away, his dark coat gleaming in the morning light, his ears pricked forward as if in greeting.

Lyonel pushed himself to his feet, offering Selyse a hand. She took it, her fingers trembling slightly as he pulled her up.

They rode in silence.

Selyse sat astride Ashford behind Lyonel, her arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressed tight against his back.

The warmth of her seeped into him, her breath hot against the nape of his neck.

Neither spoke of the night before.