RP STARTER: The Storm at the Gates, the Temptation on the Throne Red Keep, Queen’s Solar – King’s Landing (Under Siege)

The sky above King’s Landing churned with stormclouds, thick and bruised, as if the heavens themselves heralded the arrival of the last Baratheon. Beyond the city walls, war drums echoed like thunder, and the gold of Queen Daenerys's banners snapped wildly in the bitter wind. From the towers of Maegor’s Holdfast, the black shapes of catapults and scorpions bristled—waiting. Watching.

But inside the Red Keep, all was heat, incense, and calculated indulgence.

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms reclined upon a lounge of silken pillows and dragonbone, her bare legs stretched languidly beneath a translucent gown of red-and-black silk. Her silver-gold hair spilled over her shoulders like molten moonlight, and her violet eyes burned with both desire and danger.

The siege was tightening. Daveth Baratheon’s army had cut off the Kingsroad, and his ships now blockaded Blackwater Bay. Even now, her spies reported, his troops were camped within sight of the Gate of the Gods. Storm’s End, Tarth, and several Reach lords now knelt to him. And he had something no rebel had dared wield before:

Legitimacy. Lineage. And a warhammer crowned with prophecy.

Her fingers coiled around a goblet of Myrish red as she listened to her advisors bicker behind her. Tyrion’s successor, some clever-faced whisperer, warned of starvation. Grey Worm remained silent, his eyes dead. And Ser Jorah’s son, now commander of the Flameborn, stood pacing with fury.

Daenerys silenced them all with a raised hand.

“Leave me.”

They obeyed, uneasy, but none disobeyed. When the chamber was silent, save for the distant pounding of war drums, Daenerys rose to her full, statuesque height and moved to the window. She gazed down upon the city—the heart of her empire—and then farther, to the hills where banners of the stag rippled against the storm.

“So like his father,” she murmured. “But younger. Unbroken. Righteous.” A twisted smile touched her lips. “And so very alone.”

She turned away, the silk of her gown whispering like a serpent’s skin.

“War may burn my gates... but men are made of flesh.”

She walked to a velvet-lined table where letters lay discarded, maps marked, and a single carved raven token sat beside her seal. Her plan was taking shape: a parley. A truce by invitation, sent beneath the veil of peace. A private meeting. One queen. One would-be king.

And once she had him alone… away from his bannermen, away from his oaths… she would ensnare him in silk and shadow. Not with chains, but with desire. Not with dragons, but with temptation.

She would make him kneel not as a prisoner… but as a man bewitched.

“Send him the raven,” she said aloud, to no one in particular. “Tell him I wish to speak… not as enemies. But as heirs to a broken realm. Let the boy come. Let him believe he can resist me.”

Her voice became a whisper, dripping with hunger and promise:

“And then... I’ll have him beneath me.”

Her voice was cool as winter wind through dead leaves. "I did," she said, her violet eyes studying him like a predator sizing up prey. "Come in, Daveth Baratheon. I've prepared a place for us." She gestured to a servant, who swept aside a tapestry, revealing an archway leading deeper into the Red Keep. "Follow me," she said with the barest hint of a smile.

"Do you always trust so little?" Her voice was like velvet wrapped around an icicle as she led him down a narrow flight of stairs and through a series of dimly lit corridors. The air grew warmer the further they descended; her servants had lit braziers against the chill, filling the halls with scents of rose and incense. "Or is it merely caution born from battle?"

Finally, they emerged into a small, secluded chamber lit by flickering candles.

Her smile was cold as winter ice. "To see if you could resist me," she purred, taking a step closer. "To test your strength and loyalty... to find out if perhaps there is something between us besides war." She held out her hand, beckoning him with a sinuous motion that seemed more like a predator toying with prey.

"Come now, Daveth Baratheon," she breathed. "Don't you want to know what it would feel like... to have me?"

Her cheeks flushed with desire as she watched him gaze hungrily upon her body, his eyes burning bright like coals in the darkness. A shiver ran down her spine, and for a moment she forgot herself, forgetting who he was... only that he was a man. "Then take it," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackle of the candles. "Take me... and take your crown."

Her breath caught in her throat as his touch ignited a firestorm within her. She arched into his caress, her body burning with desire and the need to be owned, claimed. With a soft moan, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer still, their bodies pressing tightly together.

"Then claim me," she whispered against his lips, "and claim your crown." Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his armor, desperate to feel his skin against hers once more.

Her lips curved in a sinister smile as she watched him submit to her will. With a soft laugh, she straddled his chest and leaned down, her breasts grazing against his skin, her nipples hardening into aching points. Her fingers danced over his body, tracing patterns of desire across his chest and stomach before finally settling on the buckle of his breeches.

"No gods," she purred as she tugged his pants free, revealing him to her eager gaze. "Just me.."

With a wicked smile, she lowered herself onto his erection, taking him deep inside her with a moan of pleasure. Her body arched as he filled her, her hips moving in a sensual rhythm that drove them both to ecstasy. She looked down into his eyes, her face flushed with desire and power, her violet gaze piercing through to the very core of him.

"Welcome home, Daveth Baratheon," she breathed against his skin, "the true king of Westeros."

Her movements became more urgent as she felt the tension building inside him, her body arching higher with each thrust. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her eyes grew dark with lust and power. With a shuddering cry, she collapsed forward onto his chest, her breasts pressing against his skin, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his ear.

"You are mine,"

she whispered, her voice raspy from desire.

"And you always will be."