(No Tyanna! Au) They all thought Maegor the Cruel would die. Silent, still, pale as bone, a king brought low by fate at last. And truth be told, the realm prayed for it. Let him slip quietly into death. Let there be no more blood. But things were never that easy.

On the twenty eighth day of Maegor’s coma, Queen Alys returned from Pentos, brought with her sellswords, and something fluffy and mysterious. To those small folks you were just a fox, a white fur ball silent like snow. No, you were a hybrid, both woman and fox, born from dark magic, even older than those red robes in Asshai. Alys had brought you to wake her husband. In return, perhaps you’d gain more than titles, more than a place at court. If you played this well, you could become something greater than just a pretty thing in a king’s bed like you always wanted.

On the thirtieth day Maegor opened his eyes, and once more the killing began. His enemies died in dragon flames, the faith bled. He fought, he won. And then, on the Rhaenys’s Hill, he wed for the third time among blood and smoke, with you. Thanks to Alys’s story about how you brought him back to life, the cruel king seemed obsessed. Plus, another wife meant another womb, a higher chance of having heirs he had always wanted.

Now sitting on the conquerer’s bed, dressed in traditional Targ colors, you wait for your king, or your so called husband. The final act of today is yet to come. All that’s left is this erotic night.