The Emperor sweeps her hair over her shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. Joana shivers, though the room is warm, her body still flushed from the heat of their coupling. A smile tugs at her lips as he presses a slow, lingering kiss between her shoulder blades. His lips move lower, tracing the length of her spine with the kind of reverence that makes her stomach coil with anticipation.
She can still feel his seed inside her, slipping out in lazy trails, but it has been minutes since he last took her.
His hands roam her body, warm and possessive, fingers ghosting over her sides, igniting tiny sparks beneath her skin. Her breath stutters when she feels him shift; it sends shivers down her spine.
Slowly, she bends one knee, tucking it beneath her stomach, opening herself to him in silent invitation. This made more of the bodily fluids leak from her hole.
It was only her vaginal hole. Emperor hasn't fucked her from behind yet.
Seeing the condition of her asshole - a bloomed flower, he decided to wait and let it rest a few days before tasting it.
Why did he decide that?
Simple, Joana pleaded with him; she even cried and said, " My emperor, it's not that I don't like it from behind, but...but when I take a dump in the morning, it hurts and burns like hell... I. I can't even properly sit; it feels like something is inside and void; it also feels like my asshole is burning... please... please give my hole some rest."
She deliberately used such provoking words to let the emperor feel some sort of satisfaction.
And given how much the emperor is favoring her, he agreed.
Now back to the present, upon seeing Joana's provoking posture,
He chuckled, a low, knowing sound, before covering her body with his own.
He entered her vagina in a swift, smooth motion; it was lubricated enough since he just filled her a few minutes ago.
She exhales a breathy sigh, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her.
His hand slides beneath her, fingers pressing against her most sensitive spot, the clitoris.
The rhythm of his thrusts matches the flickering touch of his fingers, and Joana moans lost to the sensation.
"Ohhhhh..." she groans, rolling her hips against his, chasing the high that lingers just beyond her reach.
He moves with control, his body surrounding hers, his hand braced beside her head to keep from crushing her entirely. Joana buries her face into the sheets, her cries muffled as pleasure crashes over her in waves, each one stronger than the last.
He follows soon after, spilling himself inside her with a low, shuddering breath before collapsing, pressing her deliciously against the mattress.
Joana sighs, shifting slightly, turning her head in silent request. The Emperor obliges, capturing her mouth in a deep, tangled kiss. Their lips move together, unhurried and languid, as if savoring the moment.
"I'll make you a consort," he whispers against her lips, his forehead resting lightly against hers. "Even if Desmera and Margaery have daughters. As soon as they give birth, I'll marry off one of the others and raise your rank."
She says nothing as he slips out of her, leaving behind an aching emptiness. Joana blinks, rubbing her face against her palms, exhaustion already creeping in. A heavy hand returns to her back, stroking the length of her spine in slow, soothing motions.
"You're very beautiful," he murmurs. "I'm quite happy my mother decided to sponsor you."
"It was an honor," Joana replies, her voice soft.
The Emperor chuckles. "So you've said, many times." He shifts, laying beside her, his body still close. "Tell me something about yourself," he muses. "A happy story, without a wicked stepmother tossing you from your home."
Joana thinks for a moment, searching her memory for something light, something untouched by sorrow. A smile breaks across her face as a thought comes to her.
"When I was a little girl, my mother and I had a tradition," she begins. "We would make wishes for each other—things we hoped the gods would grant. Sometimes, she'd wish for a doll for me or a new pair of shoes. But as I got older, she always said the same thing: 'I wish you a good man, someone to care for you, to love you.'"
The Emperor smiles at that, a rare, unguarded expression that makes him look younger, almost boyish. "She sounds like a wise woman," he says.
Joana nods. "She always told me the gods listen to our wishes," she continues. "That they hear us and keep us safe from the dangers of the world."
His expression softens, but his next words hold a quiet weight. "Where is your mother now?" he asks. "Is she still alive?"
Joana shakes her head. "She passed last year, Your Majesty," she answers. "A fever took her. We couldn't afford a master… or even a healer." She hesitates before adding, "She died just a few weeks before my father."
The Emperor exhales, a flicker of something genuine in his gaze. "How awful," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," she says. "But we must have faith in the gods."
He nods, his fingers idly tracing patterns against the bare skin of her shoulder.
"It was them who brought me here," Joana continues, "to serve the Emperor with all that I have."
His lips quirk in a small smile, his hand coming up to cradle her face.
"I wish you a lifetime of happiness," he whispers. "I wish you a good life by my side."
Joana lifts her hand, cupping his cheek.
"And I," she whispers back, "wish you the legacy of a magnificent ruler."
An emperor has no title in life—only The Emperor. It is history that names them, shaping how they are remembered.
The Conquering Emperor. The Cruel Emperor. The Unworthy Emperor.
His father, The Good Emperor.
A ruler's fate is not determined by what they do in the present, but by how the world will judge them when they are gone.
Her Emperor's personal name is Aegon. It is a name steeped in legacy, one carried by conquerors, kings, and rulers who shaped history. A short name, but powerful—fitting for him. His father, the Melancholic Emperor, had been named Rhaegar, a name that now evoked memories of longing and regret rather than strength. The Hated Emperor, whose crimes were so monstrous his name had been struck from the annals of history, had forced a change upon his predecessor, the Clever Emperor. That ruler, once known by another name, had been posthumously renamed Aenys, sharing the title of the Indecisive Emperor.
Power and legacy were woven together in names, and Joana often wondered what history would call her Emperor when his time came.