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It was foolishness. The Prince of Dorne had warned him several times not to venture too deep into the Water Gardens, never specifying the reason, perhaps that was what deepened the curiosity of the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. The unknown had always drawn him more, a constant attraction to danger. It was no wonder his interest, bordering on obsession, in the prophecies that surrounded his surname.
But the heat he felt was inexplicable. His entire skin seemed to tingle like never before, and the sweat that gathered upon him was nauseating. He could not even tell where he was anymore. He had thrown himself to the ground, leaning against the marble; night had already claimed the sky, and Rhaegar was losing his sense of time. Yet he was almost certain that the moment the pollen of that flower touched him, the universe seemed to shift and narrow into the flames consuming him. He was a dragon, and his father said fire could not kill them, but apparently, it could torture them.
The ache building between his legs gave him a brief clarity about what had happened. He had read before, short passages about flowers capable of altering the desire within the body, or heightening it, petals used in spells to seduce a beloved. But how could he have imagined he would encounter such a thing in Dorne, of all places?
At the same time, it made sense that it would be in Dorne.
“Your Highness? Where are you?” A soft voice reached his ears, sweet and husky at once, the strong accent that had captivated him since the first day he arrived in Sunspear.
Rhaegar struggled to utter a reply loud enough to reach the princess and make it easier for her to find him, but all he managed were murmurs mixed with groans. His own tongue felt numb, and he feared that if he did not receive help in time, he would lose his life right there in such a pathetic way. He would be the first heir to die because of an aphrodisiac flower, shameful was an understatement for this situation. And knowing his father, the king would likely accuse Dorne of poisoning his heir as an attempt to seize the throne.
By the gods, another reason not to die now.
“Your Highness? Oh–by the Seven, what happened to you?” Princess Elia walked quickly toward him, her face creased with evident concern. Rhaegar’s vision was blurred, his breathing ragged, and he was certain he looked dreadful, but he could still recognize the beautiful violet silk gown the princess wore.
The lady’s silhouette had never seemed so defined as it did now, the bodice perfectly accentuating her waist along with the neckline, discreet, yet tight enough to highlight her breasts, and her lips looked so red.
“Ah, pri–” Within seconds, her hand touched his forehead, likely trying to measure the heat of his skin, but the mere brush of her touch caused an instant relief in his body, and he could not prevent the moan that slipped from his lips. He needed more. It was as though his body were begging for it, for the relief she had so easily given him.
Elia’s amber eyes narrowed, as if she immediately understood the situation. Her gaze moved around the surroundings, connecting the pieces when she noticed the fallen flower beside the prince. “Orchidaceae… Gods, how did Oberyn allow himself to lose sight of you?” The princess’s fingers moved to his cheek, attempting to wipe away his sweat, glancing around as she searched for the safest way to handle the situation.
Rhaegar’s face tilted toward her, seeking more of her touch, which felt like an elixir amidst the inferno consuming him. He turned his head to look at the princess, the movement causing her fingers to hover near his lips. Elia’s breath caught, ready to withdraw her hand, but in the next second, the prince’s action ignited something within her when she felt the softness of his mouth pressing kisses to her index finger.
“Your Highness, we need to seek help for you…” she whispered, kneeling beside him, but she found no strength to pull her hand away, not when it seemed to be what he needed most at that moment.
“Elia…” Rhaegar’s lips parted, and the heat of his tongue circled the princess’s fingers, gliding along her skin, and a sigh escaped her lips as she felt him suck her two fingers now inside his mouth. It would not be difficult to pull back and step away from him. It was clear the heir was weak, and the Dornish princess had studied enough to know the power of an orchid’s effect, a beautiful flower that, with its beauty, could turn men into nothing more than beings thirsty for lust.
She watched his eyes close as he sought relief through her fingers. He looked little like a prince in that scene, and Elia’s mind could perfectly paint it like an oil portrait. Since the moment the Targaryen stepped upon Dornish sands, she had been enchanted by his beauty; the rumors were not lies. But she was certain no one had ever seen him like this before.
His skin slick with sweat, long platinum hair cascading down his back like waterfalls, a few strands stuck to his face, eyes closed as if all he needed was to drown in the pleasure he felt. Yes, Elia knew no one had witnessed this scene before, and an ambitious part of her delighted in that thought, the last dragon so desired was there, so close and desperate for her.
Unconsciously, she moved closer to him. She did not have to do this. She could step away; he would not die. Elia knew enough antidotes, enough surrounding flowers that could ease the arousal he felt until his senses returned enough for them to make their way back to the others, and she could give him a potion. Her rational side begged her to rise, to step back, to try to maintain a minimum of decency.
Every thought vanished when she felt his hand settle firmly on her hips, and encouraged by the heat pooling in her lower belly, Elia curiously moved her fingers deeper into his mouth, which clearly pleased him judging by how eagerly he began to suck after that action, along with the grip he tightened on her body. Any coherent thought seemed to disappear from her mind, and with a certain softness she withdrew her fingers from his mouth only to replace them with her own lips. Elia’s hand found its place at the prince’s neck as she joined her mouth to his; the kiss was anything but slow, a mixture of urgency, desire, and need.
A rough moan from Rhaegar was muffled by the softness of the princess’s lips, and as soon as she parted them slightly, he slid his tongue into her mouth, pulling her closer to his body until Elia swung her leg over his thighs, settling on his lap. When the kiss broke, he felt the Martell’s lips descend along his neck in a mixture of bites and kisses. The sense of relief she caused was overwhelming; seconds ago he had felt lost in the pain his arousal brought, now the only thing consuming him was the desire to have more and more of the princess atop him.
“Yes, more… please,” Rhaegar’s words were tangled with groans, begging for more of her touch. She seemed pleased to oblige, sliding her hand down his chest beneath his shirt until reaching his erection over his trousers, massaging lightly as if afraid to hurt him, but enough to make the prince’s head fall back, suffocated by the pleasure she caused.
Elia was attentive to every reaction he gave, and a dangerous smile formed on her lips when she noticed the effect she was having on the heir, even as some awareness returned to her mind. She was not experienced, but she was not naïve either. She had heard her ladies’ conversations and more than once had stumbled upon servants in the corridors of Sunspear; she knew enough to bring pleasure to a man.
But above all, her mind returned to the flower’s effect. She knew he was not fully conscious of himself, the need for pleasure clouding any other sense that might make him see the situation around him. There was always the possibility he did not truly want this, that it was the aphrodisiac speaking louder, and when he awoke from its effect, he might hate her forever.
And Elia did not want that.
“Your Highness, you–” As she tried to speak, Rhaegar pressed his lips to hers again, resuming the kiss that had broken seconds earlier, drawing a moan from deep within her throat. But Elia tried to maintain her focus, even as she felt all the arousal gathering in her lower belly; he was still the heir to the Seven Kingdoms and son of a king known for his madness.
“Please, I need you to listen to me,” Elia broke the kiss, placing both hands on the prince’s face, keeping him focused on her words. “The flower that did this to you…there are potions that can remove the effect. But now that… we’ve touched, your body will crave more. Still, I am certain I can do something to bring you back to yourself, if we ret–”
“Princess, please… I only need you now,” Rhaegar moaned her title as he returned to placing kisses along her neck, both his hands firm on her hips as he pulled her closer, lifting the skirt of her dress so it gathered at her thighs until their intimacies met.
The smile Elia felt against her neck when an embarrassingly loud moan escaped her lips was one of the greatest provocations possible in such a moment, yet the prince did not stop. On the contrary, he seemed encouraged to do more.
Guiding her hips, he began to move the princess back and forth upon his lap until she was rubbing her core against the erection that had formed beneath him. He seemed far more aware of his actions now, judging by the strength with which he urged her to move, making the princess question who truly was the victim in that instant.
One moment Elia felt like the predator; seconds later she became the prey.
“Prin– Prince Rhae–”
“Rhaegar. I do not believe formalities are necessary when we are like this, do you?” he murmured, his voice balanced between pure desire and something dangerously close to threat, satisfied to see the beloved princess of Dorne unraveling in his arms.
His pale fingers moved to the laces of her corset, attempting to remove it quickly enough to gain access to her breasts, made all the more alluring by the neckline of her gown. Realizing what he wanted, Elia did not resist; instead, she hastened the act, joining her hand with his until the garment was finally loosened and her bust exposed to him.
On another day, at another hour, Princess Elia would have been deeply ashamed to stand so wantonly before the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, thinking of the scandal this could cause. After all, there was no formal commitment between them.
But apparently lust is capable of transforming people, because when his lips attached to her areola, circling his tongue and sucking like a parched man, any thought was easily abandoned, her hand tangling in his hair while Rhaegar’s hand squeezed her thigh, climbing higher along her skin, tracing the path toward the source of her desire.
“Please… Rhaegar, I need more…” Elia pleaded for something she could not even name, only knowing she wanted everything, his lips, his fingers, his whispers, his sighs, she wished to feel every touch of his in every corner of her skin.
“Shh, do not worry, my dear, do not worry,” Rhaegar moved his lips up her neck until he gently nipped at her ear. The heat that had burned him at the beginning now returned to haunt him, his mind signaling what should be done to satisfy the desire consuming him, though his eyes briefly scanned their surroundings.
It should not be like this, not in this place, in such indecent ways. But he needed to have her now; he feared that if another second passed, his soul would unravel. There would be time enough to redeem himself later, after all, he would be nothing but a fool if he did not immediately ask for Elia’s hand in marriage after this.
Their eyes met again, and Rhaegar gently pulled Elia’s face closer until their foreheads touched, a shared breath between them. A moment of clarity amidst the desperation overtaking both their bodies, perhaps the only true moment of clarity he had ever known in a life surrounded by smoke and restless dreams.
Elia ran her nails down his neck, descending with the kisses she began to place, opening his shirt. She seemed to devour him with grace and softness, her touches carving a path until reaching the waistband of his trousers, looking at him once more in search of confirmation.
His only response was another sealing of lips, seeking her mouth while the princess tugged at the fabric, freeing him. He could not suppress the groan when she wrapped her hand around him, her inexperience evident in her hesitation before she began to stroke him, moving her hand up and down his length without much effort to make him even more aroused than he already was.
“Elia, stop torturing me, my love,” His lament drew only a small giggle from the princess, yet she listened to his plea, shifting to remove the intimate fabric between her thighs.
When she lifted her hips to adjust her position and guide him inside her, Rhaegar could not help feeling even more captivated. Completely enthralled by the woman before him, sweat gliding down her skin, causing strands of her brown hair to cling to her face, the bronze of her body catching the light, her irises lowered as she tried to contain an expression of pain while slowly lowering herself to take him carefully.
“Do not force yourself,” he whispered, placing a hand at the back of her neck, stroking gently and pressing kisses to her face as the princess smiled in a mixture of pain and tenderness.
Nothing about this situation was appropriate, and anyone could find them, creating the scandal of the decade. The heir prince and the Princess of Dorne, thrown into a dark corner of the Water Gardens, committing indecent acts without the slightest shame. But that was a thought for another time. In that moment, all Rhaegar could think about was the immense pleasure of having Elia riding him, watching the confidence she gained as pain gave way to pleasure.
When he noticed her fingers moving toward her own clitoris, he quickly replaced them with his own, rubbing at the right rhythm to satisfy her, though his only education came from erotic books his cousin insisted on gifting him. Yet it seemed to have the desired effect, for suddenly Elia’s body trembled with light spasms, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.
“Yes… gods, yes,” Elia moaned into his ear, blessing him with the sweetest sounds possible, her moans added to his list of favorite melodies.
Rhaegar wrapped his arms around the princess’s body as she collapsed against him, both reaching their peak together. He felt relief flood his body, finally seeming to shake off the pollen’s effect, and he pulled Elia’s thighs to settle her more securely in his lap, bringing them even closer.
The princess breathed heavily, still dazed by their actions, and the prince began to fasten her corset again, knowing they would have to return to where the rest of the retinue waited.
“We could… throw ourselves into one of the pools and pretend we fell in together. It would be easier to disguise what happened,” Elia murmured, her head still resting on his shoulder as she tried to steady her breathing.
“It sounds like a good plan.”
“Yes… Oberyn would still suspect, I think. But I can fool him.”
“We will not need to pretend for long,” Rhaegar placed a small kiss on the princess’s forehead. “Perhaps we should bring that flower to our wedding night. What do you think?”
Elia lifted her head, looking at him with bright eyes, an almost childish smile playing on her lips.
“It sounds like a good plan.”