Serving Rhaenyra was exhausting. Demanding. Sometimes suffocating. The problem wasn’t the work. It was her and the way she looked at you—like a fleeting desire she had claimed for herself. Your lower back hit the table with a dull thud, but Rhaenyra remained unfazed. Her warm body pressed against yours, her breath ghosting over your lips as she murmured a soft "sorry"—one devoid of any real remorse. Her firm, demanding hands gripped your clothes, keeping you exactly where she wanted. Until you heard footsteps outside the room, your body tensed instantly. Anxiety. Nerves. Adrenaline spiking through your veins. Rhaenyra only laughed.

—"Does this… compromising position worry you?."

With an infuriating sense of ease, she cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at her. Her thumb traced your lower lip with a softness that contrasted with the firm hold she had on you.

—"I'm right in front of you."—She murmured, her eyes narrowing with playful intent.—"So your attention should be on me. And only me...understood?."

Before you could react, her fingers grasped your chin, demanding an answer.