The night carries on in a hush of subdued celebration. Laughter is quiet, conversation restrained as if the air itself is thick with unspoken thoughts. Lady Margaery glances toward the high table more than once, confusion flickering across her face. But the Emperor does not meet her eyes. His focus is elsewhere; he is unreadable.
At last, the final plate is cleared, signaling the evening's end. Guests rise, exchanging pleasantries as they prepare to depart. Joana remains by her table, watching as the Emperor stands. But instead of following the formalities of the farewell, he moves toward her, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Did His Majesty enjoy my song?" she asks as he nears, her voice light yet careful. Around them, the rustle of silk and the soft shuffle of steps fill the space.
"It was incredible," he replies, his fingers grazing her elbow with gentle intent. "Let us go to your rooms. I'm eager to truly show my appreciation for it."
Joana laughs, nodding, and turns to lead the way.
The walk to her chambers is effortless with him at her side.
There is no hesitation in the way she moves, though she can feel the weight of many eyes upon them.
The Emperor is an imposing figure—tall, commanding, a presence that cannot be ignored. And yet, when he looks at her, his gaze is soft, affectionate in a way that is almost startling against his usual steel.
Her chambers await them, empty but pristine.
Joana watches as he steps away from her, glancing around with quiet curiosity.
He moves leisurely, his fingers brushing over the objects she has gathered, the small changes she has made to shape this space into something that is hers. She does not speak, simply observing as he stops before the shelves where her books are neatly arranged. He lifts a hand, trailing his fingers over the smooth leather bindings.
"More books?" he muses, turning toward her with a smirk. "What could you possibly need from all of these?"
"In my life before, I had few opportunities to read," she answers, her tone light but honest. "Now, I like to indulge."
He crosses the space between them with unhurried steps, wrapping his arms around her, letting her feel his warmth.
"If you enjoy reading so much, then tell your maids to bring you books from my personal library," he offers.
Joana tilts her head, amusement glinting in her eyes. "But they would be your books," she counters, "not mine."
"Perhaps," he murmurs, his breath warm against her cheek.
She inhales deeply, catching the scent of the fragrant oils he so often rubs into his skin—spiced citrus, clean and enticing. Before she can lose herself in it, his voice hums again, this time edged with curiosity.
"Do you truly give your maids nights off," he muses, "or only when I'm here?"
She nearly laughs, recalling how Dalla had still been folding one of her gowns when the Emperor arrived—an hour earlier than expected, no less. He had watched as she dismissed the girl for the night, sending her off with a kind word and a gentle push toward the door.
"Only when you're here," Joana answers easily. And since the Emperor has come to her every night, her maids have grown used to evenings free of duty. "Or would His Majesty prefer for them to stand outside, listening to everything?"
A rich laugh escapes him at that. "Maybe not, then," he concedes, his hand stroking slow circles along her back. She leans into him, savoring the moment, but then he stills.
"Read something for me," he says.
Her eyes flutter open, blinking up at him. "Your Majesty?"
He does not elaborate, only settles himself onto the bed, legs spread comfortably apart, looking every inch the ruler he is. "Read something from your books for me," he repeats. "Let me see what it is that keeps you entertained in my absence."
Joana hesitates only briefly before turning back to her shelves. She scans the spines, searching for something that feels… safe. Not a text that might make him think she harbors dangerous thoughts. Nothing too weighty, nothing too idle.
Her fingers land on a collection of stories from the time of the Seven Kingdoms, a book filled with legends and old romances. She turns, book in hand, only to find the Emperor watching her with a quiet intensity.
He is too comfortable where he sits, sprawled in The bed as if he owns not just this space but the air within it. She does not dare sit beside him. Instead, Joana kneels on the floor in front of him, the layers of her skirts softening the press of stone beneath her.
But then she looked up and then smiled.
Instead of using her skirts as a cushion to sit, she spreads them around her and lets her bare ass touch the cold ground.
Since any type of undergarments aren't allowed and only outer clothes are allowed in the harem, Joana made sure to let the emperor enjoy this scenery.
She sat on her knees while her bare ass touched the cold floor beneath her; it made her warm pussy and its leaking juices cold.
Her knees will not be as raw in the morning, at least.
When she looks up, he is smiling. Good. She smiles in return before lowering her gaze to the book, flipping carefully through the pages until she finds a story she loves.
"Ser Serwyn was an honorable knight in the service of the Gardener King," she begins. "He was well-loved and respected by all, even the poorest of men and the simplest of women. Once, Serwyn saved the King's most beloved daughter, Princess Daeryssa, from giants and was granted her hand in marriage."
She reads slowly.
It is strange and embarrassing to read aloud before him. At times, she hesitates, stumbling over an unfamiliar word, but he says nothing. He only watches, listening in silence.
When she reaches the end of Ser Serwyn's tale, he does not let her stop. Instead, he bids her to begin another, and so she does, flipping to the next story and reading on. Time drifts, marked only by the growing ache in her legs and the dull strain in her throat from speaking so much. Still, she does not falter.