The inner palace had a rhythm, a steady hum that carried days into nights like a river running smooth. Joana moved through it all with the ease of someone who'd learned her place—tending to little Jaehaerys, sitting through lessons on poetry and courtly graces, wandering the gardens where sunlight spilled over roses, and sipping tea with the other consorts when she had to. To anyone watching, she was just right: a consort with a soft smile, her steps light, her words careful.
But inside her head, it was a different story. Her thoughts churned, restless and heavy, always circling back to one person—Ariyana, the Gracious Mother. Joana couldn't escape her.
She'd see her gliding down a hallway, white robes trailing like a ghost, or kneeling in the temple, candlelight catching her face. Sometimes it was just her laugh at a court feast, bright and warm, pulling every head her way. And every damn time, Joana's mind would flash to things she wasn't supposed to know. Ariyana's face, flushed and sweaty. Her lips, trembling in a crooked smile. Her hips swayed slowly and deliberately. Her back, arched tight as she gave herself up to—
Joana would grip whatever was in her hands—a brush, a cup, her own dress—until her fingers hurt, trying to pull herself back. But those pictures followed her, especially when Aegon came to her bed. His nights with her were raw, all heat and need, leaving her body aching and her mind tangled. And even then, Ariyana was there, slipping into Joana's thoughts like a thief.
One night, Aegon showed up without a word. Her room smelled of jasmine and wax, the lamps casting a warm glow over the silk curtains.
He didn't bother with talk—just grabbed her, his hands rough, his mouth hungry.
Maybe he was tired from work and just wanted to relieve himself.
Joana let him take her, her body falling into step with his, but her head was somewhere else.
He fucked her first on the bed, bending her over, her hands clutching the carved headboard, her dark hair spilling loose. His cock drove into her, hard and deep, each thrust rocking her forward. She moaned, but her mind wasn't on him.
She saw Ariyana instead—her face twisted in pleasure, her pussy stretched wide around the Grand Healer's dick. Joana's heart pounded, not just from Aegon but from that day she'd stood in the alley, pressed against a cold wall, staring through a crack in the healer's window.
She'd seen it all. Ariyana, her robes gone, her skin slick with sweat. The healer—stern, gray-haired, all duty in public—fucking her like a man possessed. Ariyana's moans had been low, almost animal, her nails scraping the floor as he pounded into her from behind. Her ass shook with every thrust, her pussy dripping, taking him deeper until she was gasping, begging for more. Joana's face burned now, remembering—how Ariyana's tits bounced, how her thighs quivered, how she'd cried out when he came inside her, her body shuddering like it couldn't hold it all.
Aegon flipped Joana onto her back, spreading her legs wide, his hands pinning her wrists to the mattress. His cock slid back in, faster now, stretching her pussy with every stroke.
She arched up, meeting him, her clit throbbing, but her mind kept drifting. She saw Ariyana again, laid out on the healer's floor, her mature cunt slick and open, taking every inch he gave her. Joana's own pleasure twisted with the memory, a dirty spark flaring where guilt should've been.
Aegon's breath was hot on her neck, his thrusts sloppy, and Joana's eyes fluttered shut—only to see Ariyana's mouth, open in a moan, her body shaking as she came, her pussy clenching around the healer's cock.
Then Aegon pushed her against the wall, one hand hooking under her thigh to lift her leg. He fucked her standing, his dick slamming into her, her ass pressed hard against the wood.
The position hit her like a punch—it was the same one. She'd seen Ariyana like that, pinned to the healer's wall, fucked three times over. The healer had gripped her hips, his fingers bruising, his cock pounding her ass raw. Ariyana's screams had been sharp, her body jerking with every thrust, her holes leaking cum as he filled her again and again.
Joana's own orgasm ripped through her, her asshole tightening around Aegon's cock, her nails clawing his back. But it wasn't him she felt—it was Ariyana's face she saw, her eyes wild, her secrets spilling out in the dark.
When Aegon left, Joana sank onto the bed, her thighs sticky, her breath ragged. The images didn't fade—they stuck to her like sweat, heavy and warm. Ariyana was everything the palace worshipped: the emperor's mother, the old emperor's widow, and grandmother to a handful of royal kids. Her white robes were a symbol, her every word wise and kind. But Joana had seen her bare, fucked senseless, giving herself to a man like it was all she needed.
How could she do it? How could someone so high up risk her name, her place, for a cock like that? Joana figured she must've taken something—herbs, maybe, to keep a baby away. It was the only thing that made sense.
Two weeks had passed since Joana stood in that alley, heart hammering, peering through the healer's window. Two weeks of carrying a secret that weighed her down. She'd drifted through the palace like a ghost since then, smiling when she had to, talking when someone asked her something, but always watching, always thinking.
Mornings were rough. She'd be brushing Jaehaerys's hair or tying his shirt, and her mind would slip—to Ariyana's moans, the wet slap of skin, the way the lamplight caught her sweat. She'd catch herself staring at nothing, shake it off, and hum a tune to fill the quiet. Nights were worse. She'd lie in bed, hands on her stomach, staring at the ceiling's carved vines, seeing it all again: Ariyana's body, the healer's hands, the air thick with their gasps. She wasn't just curious—she was caught as she'd stepped into a trap she couldn't walk away from.
The palace didn't notice. Servants swept the halls, consorts whispered over tea, and guards stood to watch. To them, Ariyana was still the Gracious Mother, pure as the moon. Only Joana knew what she was under it all.
One sunny morning, the consorts were called to the eastern hall for their monthly sit-down with Ariyana. It was the usual thing—some chitchat, a bit of advice, a reminder to keep the palace's rules.
Joana went along, her pink dress catching the light, her silver earrings small and neat, her hair pinned up tight. She sat with the others, hands folded, looking every bit like she belonged.
Ariyana came in a minute later, all calm and graceful in her white robe, gold threads shining at the hems. She moved slowly, nodding to each woman with a smile that felt like a warm touch.
When she was walking, her big ass was swinging around.
Joana's breath stuck in her throat.
That smile. That movement of her ass..and how she was spanked.
Her head jumped back to the window before she could stop it.
You were on your knees, that face, that voice—moaning, begging him to fuck you harder.
Her heart started racing, and she looked down fast, messing with her sleeve to cover it. Her pulse was loud like it might give her away.
Ariyana sat at the front and started talking—something about prayers, the emperor's trip, and how to act at the spring festivals. Her voice was smooth, like a breeze over water, full of the kind of wisdom everyone ate up. But Joana couldn't hear it right. She kept watching Ariyana's lips, seeing them gasp instead. She saw her hands, folded neatly, and pictured them clawing wood. It was like two women were there—the one everyone bowed to and the one Joana couldn't stop seeing.
She nodded when the others did and said "Yes, Mother" when she had to, but her face felt hot like she was slipping, and everyone could tell.
"Joana," Ariyana said out of nowhere, her voice soft but sharp. Her eyes landed on Joana, steady and searching. "Something bothering you?"
Joana's stomach twisted. "No, Mother," she got out, blinking too fast. "Just thinking about the festival stuff. Sorry."
Ariyana watched her a moment longer, her face calm but her eyes narrow, like she saw something. Then she nodded, a small smile tugging her lips. "Good. Thinking's important."
Joana forced a smile back, her heart tripping hard. She looked down, scared Ariyana might read her if she didn't.
When it was over, the consorts wandered out to the gardens, laughing and talking. Joana hung back, her steps heavy, like her thoughts were dragging her down. That look from Ariyana had shaken her and made her feel like she'd gotten too close to a fire.
That night, alone in her room, Joana sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair slowly, the bristles whispering through. The lamps glowed soft, shadows moving on the walls. A month had gone by since she'd followed that dropped letter to the alley and looked through that window. A month, and she was still stuck.
She didn't know what to do with it. It was too big to keep, too dangerous to tell. But one thing was dead certain—she'd never see Ariyana the same again.