Maegor: The Terrible

Cercy Hightower entered, her delicate features framed by her golden hair, her green eyes warm with affection. She carried a towel and a flask of scented oil, her steps hesitant but purposeful.

"Lord husband," she said softly, setting the items on a nearby bench. "You look troubled."

Maegor settled his gaze on her. "Troubled? No, I am merely thinking. The realm does not rule itself."

Cercy moved closer, kneeling by the edge of the pool. "You carry so much, Maegor. I see it in your eyes, in the way you hold yourself. You don't have to bear it all alone."

He regarded her in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Cercy reached out, her hand brushing against his. "Let me be your confidante, your partner in more than name. I love you, Maegor. Truly."

His hand closed over hers, firm but not tender. "My duty is to the realm, to my legacy."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she smiled through them. "I know you're not a man for sweet words or promises. But I am here and will stand by you, no matter what."

Maegor leaned forward, his grip on her hand tightening. "I know you will. You are mine, Cercy. My queen, my woman, you belong to me. Do you understand that?"

Her breath caught, but she nodded. "Yes, my king."

He released her hand and sank back into the water, closing his eyes again. Cercy sat quietly by the pool, her heart aching with a love she knew would never be fully returned.

Yet, she resolved to remain steadfast, hoping that one day, Maegor might see her as more than an object to be claimed.

In the stillness of the baths, the only sound was the soft ripple of water, as Maegor's thoughts drifted once more to conquest and the shadow of the Conqueror's legacy that loomed over him.

Cercy leaned closer, her fingers brushing his cheek. "You say I am yours," she murmured, her voice soft and honeyed, "but a wife does not need to be told what she already knows."

Maegor's eyes opened, sharp and piercing. "Then why say it?"

"To remind you, my king, that I am here for more than words," she replied, her lips curling into a faint, playful smile. Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him—a gentle but deliberate act, her touch warm against the cool intensity of his demeanor.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he allowed her closeness, his hands rising to her waist, gripping her firmly, possessively. She broke the kiss, her green eyes searching his violet ones.

"As your queen," Cercy whispered, her hand trailing to the water's edge, "it is my duty to ensure you are strong in both mind and body. A king who carries so much should know how to indulge now and then."

Maegor's brow furrowed, though his grip on her tightened. "Indulgence is the weakness of lesser men."

"Perhaps," she said, slipping into the water beside him. The warm liquid lapped around her as she moved closer, her golden hair clinging to her skin. "But even kings must take time to fortify themselves. And a king," she added with a sly smile, her voice dropping to a whisper, "must think of heirs."

 Her words lingered in the air. Maegor's expression softened, his intensity giving way to a flicker of something darker, more primal. "An heir," he repeated, his voice a low rumble. "Yes, the realm will need one."

Cercy pressed herself closer, her lips grazing his ear. "Then let me help you, my king. Let me serve you."

For a moment, the weight of the crown and the endless burden of rule faded. Maegor's hand moved to the nape of her neck, pulling her into a fervent kiss. The tension in the room shifted, no longer one of ambition and calculation but something more intimate, primal, and deeply possessive.

As the two disappeared beneath the steam, the Red Keep stood silent, its walls bearing witness to the private moments of a king who will rule with fire and blood, and a queen who loved him despite it all.