Cersei didn't send a clasp this time.
She sent a single word, smuggled through a handmaid who couldn't meet Aeryon's eyes:
"Now."
That was all.
Aeryon didn't hesitate.
He walked through the dim hallways of Winterfell with the quiet certainty of a man who knew exactly what he was about to claim — and what it would mean.
When he slipped into her solar, the door barely clicked shut before Cersei spoke.
"You kept me waiting."
She stood in the center of the room, wearing a deep green gown that clung to her like it envied her curves. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, wild and golden — like something unchained.
Aeryon locked the door behind him.
"You sent for me," he said softly. "That's all I need."
Her chin lifted, eyes blazing with something fierce and hungry.
"Good," she said. "Then kneel."
Aeryon raised an eyebrow.
Her eyes flashed.
"You heard me."
He stepped closer. Slowly. Deliberately.
Her breath caught the moment she realized he wasn't obeying.
"Cersei," he murmured, "you don't give orders to me."
She stiffened — not offended, but electrified.
"No?" she breathed.
He didn't stop until he stood right in front of her, close enough that his breath brushed her lips. She tilted her head up to maintain eye contact — refusing to yield an inch.
"You think you can control me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with defiance and want.
Aeryon reached up, sliding a hand into her hair, tilting her face toward him.
"Not think," he murmured.
"Know."
Her breath shuddered out of her. She tried to pull back — instinct, pride — but he held her gently, firmly, just enough to show he wasn't letting her slip away from this.
"Say it," he said.
"No," she whispered, fire in her eyes.
He leaned in until his lips grazed the corner of her mouth.
"Say it."
Cersei's hands clenched at her sides. She was trembling — with rage or desire, it didn't matter. She couldn't look away from him.
"You're impossible," she breathed.
"You're afraid of how much you want this," he countered.
Her jaw tightened.
Her eyes flicked to his mouth.
And then—
She grabbed him by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the nearest wall, her lips a hair's breadth from his.
"You think you own me?" she whispered, breath shaking against his skin.
Aeryon's hand slid down her spine, pulling her flush against him.
"No," he said.
"I think you want me to."
That broke her.
She kissed him.
Hard. Desperate. Consuming.
Like she was punishing him for existing.
Aeryon kissed her back — not yielding, not soft, but with a dominance she couldn't fight, answering every challenge with certainty, with control.
Cersei moaned — an involuntary, furious sound — and pushed him harder against the wall. His hands roamed her waist, her back, pulling her closer, lifting her without effort.
She gasped.
"Don't—" she started.
He silenced her with a slow, deliberate kiss that made her knees buckle.
When he broke away, she was breathless, shaking, undone.
"You wanted control," he murmured against her lips.
"You lost it the moment I walked through that door."
Her nails clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, dragging him toward the bed with a hunger sharpened by years of being denied anything real.
"Aeryon—" she whispered.
He lifted her chin, eyes on hers.
"Cersei," he said softly, "this ends only one way."
Her eyes darkened.
She nodded.
Once.
Slow.
Accepting him completely.
He kissed her again, deeper, her body arching into his—
And then—
The candles flickered violently as she pulled him down onto the bed—
The fire had burned low.
The furs were tangled.
Cersei lay half-draped across Aeryon's chest, her breath still uneven, her hair a golden mess against his skin.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Not because they were tired—
but because the room felt like the air itself might shatter if either of them broke the silence.
Cersei's fingers traced a slow line down his stomach, lazy, satisfied, but trembling ever so slightly. She was trying to hide it. She failed.
"You're quiet," Aeryon murmured.
"Don't."
She didn't lift her head. "If I speak, I may say something I can't take back."
He ran a hand through her hair.
"You already said plenty."
She let out a soft exhale that could've been a laugh, or a curse, or both.
"Do you want to know what frightens me?" she whispered.
Aeryon didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Cersei lifted herself just enough to look at him. Her face was inches above his, flushed and fierce and unguarded in a way she had never allowed anyone—not Robert, not Jaime—to see.
"You make me feel…"
She swallowed.
"…alive. And I hate it."
Aeryon cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
"No," he said softly. "You hate that you can't control it."
Her lips parted, breath catching.
He had struck exactly the right place.
She leaned down, kissing him with a hunger that burned differently this time—less violence, more possession—her fingers gripping his jaw.
When she broke the kiss, she stayed close, her forehead touching his.
"If anyone learns of this," she whispered, "I will deny everything. I will have entire houses burned to ash to keep it hidden."
"You think I don't understand the stakes?" Aeryon replied.
Cersei's eyes softened in a way she would never allow in daylight.
"You understand too well," she murmured. "That's the problem."
She shifted, resting fully against him again, but this time her arm circled his waist in a way that was—shockingly—almost tender.
Almost.
"You're mine now," she whispered into his skin, voice dark and warm and claiming. "Do you understand that?"
Aeryon smiled against her hair.
"You think so."
Her nails gently dragged across his hip, a threat disguised as a caress.
"I don't think," she said. "I decide."
Aeryon lifted her chin, making her meet his eyes.
"You can try," he murmured, "but you'll find I'm not yours to command."
The tremor that ran through her this time had nothing to do with fear.
"Aeryon…"
His name came out like a confession.
He kissed her again — slow, deep, confident — and when she broke away, she looked almost dazed.
"You're going to destroy me," she whispered.
"No," he said. "I'm going to be the best decision you've ever made."
Her pupils dilated.
Her hand slid to her stomach — unconsciously, instinctively — as though already sensing something shifting inside her.
Aeryon noticed.
So did she.
Her hand froze.
Then she slowly pulled it away, forcing her expression neutral.
"We will not speak of tonight again," she said abruptly.
Aeryon brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"We will," he said. "Sooner than you think."
Cersei stared at him for a long, dangerous heartbeat.
Then she kissed him again—
longer this time, like she was memorizing the shape of his mouth.
When she finally pulled away, she whispered:
"Go before I keep you here until dawn."
Aeryon dressed quietly.
At the door, he looked back.
Cersei was sitting in the bed, sheets gathered loosely around her, eyes locked on him with a gaze sharp enough to cut steel.
"Close the door softly," she said.
He did.
And on the other side, Cersei let out a single, shaky breath—
the quiet gasp of a woman who knew her world had just changed,
and didn't know whether to be terrified or thrilled.
Aeryon stepped into the cold morning air, letting Winterfell's bite clear the last traces of Cersei's warmth from his skin.
Not because he wanted it gone.
Because he couldn't afford to carry it.
Not here.
Not yet.
The courtyard buzzed with activity: Stark men drilling, servants hauling water, grooms tending the horses. Everything felt ordinary — almost insultingly so — considering what had just happened behind the Queen's locked door.
Aeryon adjusted his cloak, feeling the lion-clasp still hidden at his sleeve.
Her mark.
Her claim.
A dangerous gift.
A useful one.
He crossed the yard, heading toward the stables. He needed a horse ready by tonight, maybe morning at the latest. King's Landing lay weeks to the south, but he didn't need to ride the whole way. Not when he had dragons hidden beyond the walls and a "creative mode" inventory heavier than any treasury Westeros possessed.
He just needed to leave without drawing attention.
Before Cersei tried to keep him.
Before Jaime tried to kill him.
Before Robert tried to tame him.
But the moment Aeryon reached for the reins of a tall black courser, a voice slid into the air behind him:
"Leaving so soon?"
Aeryon didn't need to turn.
The tone was unmistakable.
Cersei.
He took a steadying breath before turning to face her. She was wrapped in a heavy fur-lined cloak, the hood shadowing her face — but even hidden, her presence pulled the air tight.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," Aeryon said softly.
Cersei stepped closer, slow and purposeful.
"Then it's fortunate I'm not alone," she murmured.
Her eyes dragged over him — not with last night's heat, but with calculation.
"You're leaving," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"I need to," Aeryon replied. "I can't stay in the North forever."
"Of course not," she said. "But you weren't planning on telling me."
Aeryon met her stare evenly.
"No."
Something flickered across her face — hurt, quickly smothered by pride.
She moved until she stood so close their cloaks brushed.
"Is it because of Jaime?" she asked quietly. "Or because of me?"
Aeryon stepped in just a fraction — close enough that their breath mingled in the cold air.
"Because staying puts us both at risk," he said. "We need distance. Space to shape the world we want."
Cersei's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"And what world is that?"
"One where you're not tied to a drunken king," he said softly.
"One where you don't have to hide in shadowed rooms. One where your power is real, not borrowed."
Her breath hitched — small, sharp, involuntary.
"You speak as if you mean to hand me the realm," she whispered.
Aeryon leaned in just enough that his lips brushed the edge of her hood.
"No," he murmured.
"I mean to take it with you."
Cersei trembled — once, violently — before regaining control.
"And if I ask you to stay?" she whispered. "Here. Now."
Aeryon lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Then you'd be asking me to die," he said. "Jaime is already watching too closely. Robert is getting suspicious. And you…"
His thumb brushed the corner of her lip.
"...you're not hiding your reactions as well as you think."
Cersei's breath faltered — barely perceptible — but real.
He was right.
She hated that he was right.
But she needed him more than she had ever needed anyone outside her family.
"What do you want from me before you go?" she asked, voice hushed.
Aeryon took her gloved hand and folded something small into it.
The lion-clasp.
Her eyes widened.
"You're returning it?"
"No," he said.
"I'm reminding you that you're not losing me."
Slowly, she closed her fingers around the clasp.
A claim returned.
A promise accepted.
"When will I see you again?" she whispered.
Aeryon brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger.
"Soon," he murmured. "When the game moves south."
Cersei leaned forward — not for a kiss, but for a breath, a heartbeat of closeness she could pretend meant nothing.
"Don't make me wait long," she whispered.
Aeryon pulled away with a steadiness that made her jaw clench.
"Waiting will make you want it more."
Her eyes flared — with fury, and desire, and something dangerously close to longing.
He mounted the courser, cloak falling around him like a shadow.
Cersei stepped back, hood still hiding her face, voice low and cutting:
"Be careful on the road. Winterfell has dangers you haven't seen."
Aeryon smirked.
"So does King's Landing."
He rode out through the gate.
Behind him, Cersei stood perfectly still — a statue carved of pride and hunger and something she refused to name.
Her hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to her stomach again.
Just for a moment.
Then she caught herself and lowered it.
"Too soon," she whispered to the morning frost.
"Far too soon."
But not impossible.