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The rain had been coming down since midday, a heavy, relentless sheet that turned the road to mud and thickened the air. It pelted Dunk’s cloak, soaked through the seams of his gloves, and dripped down from the brim of his hood in rivulets.
Egg rode ahead of him.
He always did now, when the road was clear enough to allow it. It wasn’t born of arrogance—though Dunk had noticed more of that lately than he liked—but because it was expected. He wouldn’t be a boy for much longer, tucked away in the shadow of a hedge knight.
Still, Dunk kept close.
He maintained a careful distance, not wanting to crowd the boy or prick his burgeoning pride, but he stayed near enough that Thunder’s nose nearly brushed the tail of Egg’s mount. His eyes remained fixed on the path, watching the way the palfrey’s hooves slid through the slurry of clay and hidden stones. If the animal so much as faltered, Dunk intended to be there, reaching out with a firm hand to steady the boy before he could touch the earth.
It had been harder to secure Prince Maekar’s permission to set out this time. The stern-faced alpha’s warnings still echoed in the back of his mind. It was one thing for a pup to return to Summerhall bearing bruises and scrapes. It was quite another for an omega to reappear looking so battered.
Dunk didn’t truly understand why Egg’s emerging presentation made others view him as something fragile—a sentiment the boy complained about loudly and often. To Dunk, Egg was still the same spirited boy who’d shorn his hair to hide his heritage. But the highborn saw the world through a different lens. In the gutters of Flea Bottom, a secondary presentation was hardly a matter of distinction; people there rarely had the luxury to care what your blood sang. Among the nobility, however, it changed everything.
The boy had been quiet all afternoon.
At first, Dunk had chalked it up to the weather. Egg hated cold rain, always had. When he was smaller he’d complain until his teeth chattered, sulking in his saddle. That had not changed much. Though the complaints were rarer now, or quieter, at least.
His lithe frame grew stiffer the longer they rode, his knuckles white where they gripped the wet leather of the reins. Each time Dunk tried to coax him into conversation, he was met with clipped replies and a sharp roll of the eyes that made his palms itch. He felt the familiar urge to give the boy a clout upside the head, but the fear of leaving a bruise behind stilled his hand.
“You’re riding like you’ve got a splinter in your arse,” Dunk called over the rain, voice roughened by the weather.
Egg turned his head over his shoulder, casting back an unimpressed look. “We’ve been riding for hours, ser,” he complained. “I’m sore.”
They’d ridden for much longer in the past without the boy whining, but there was a tightening in Egg’s face that spoke of true discomfort.
Dunk frowned. “We’ll stop soon. There’s an inn a mile up the road.”
Egg’s face reddened, the way it always did when he suspected Dunk was treating him too carefully. “We don’t need to waste coin on an inn,” he snapped, though his voice wavered against the wind. “The shelter of a tree will do fine.”
Dunk snorted and wiped a stray bead of rain from his nose. “The branches are as bare as a babe’s arse, lad. We’ll get no protection there. You’ll spend the night shivering, get no sleep, and be even more unbearable on the morrow.”
Egg’s posture went rigid, his spine snapping straight. “I don’t want to sleep in a flea ridden inn that reeks of rat piss and sour ale!”
It was a sharper tongue than he usually dared with Dunk. For a heartbeat, he felt his own patience wane. He opened his mouth to deliver a chiding that would make the boy’s ears ring, his hand twitching at his side. But before the words could leave his throat, Egg slumped. The defiance drained out of him all at once, leaving him looking small and hollow in his wet leathers.
“Sorry ser,” he muttered, his head hanging low to hide his eyes. “I did not mean to speak to you so.”
He looked so thoroughly miserable that Dunk pulled Thunder closer, peering at the boy with mounting concern.
Egg looked pained as he huddled deep into his cloak, the heavy wool sodden with rain. His hair clung wetly to his neck, the brown dye he used to hide the silver leaving dark trails against his skin. His cheeks were flushed, the color high and bright. Less like a chill, and more like the bloom of a rising fever.
“Egg,” Dunk said, his voice dropping. “Have you taken ill?”
Egg shrugged, muttering something that the wind swept away. Beneath him, his horse snorted abruptly, its ear twitching as it picked up on the restless tension of its rider.
Dunk steered his mount right alongside him. He noticed Egg tugging at his collar, pulling the damp fabric away from his throat as though the air itself had become too tight to breathe. “Tell me true, boy,” Dunk pressed, his tone leaving no room for excuses. “What’s wrong?”
Egg swallowed hard, his pale lashes blinking slowly against the rain. “I don’t know, ser,” he admitted, his voice small. “My stomach. It’s been paining me a little.”
Dunk’s eyes sharpened instantly. A stomach ailment on the road could be anything from bad sausage to the flux. “For how long?”
Egg bit his lip, a flash of guilt crossing his face. “Since we first started riding this morning.”
Dunk swore under his breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?“
Egg looked at him then, a spark of defiance returning to his eyes despite his pallor. “I thought it would pass,” he insisted. “It wasn’t so bad before.”
Dunk was about to growl that a squire was of no use to anyone if he fell from his saddle, but the words died in his throat as the wind shifted.
The air changed. A sudden, cloying sweetness cut through the smell of wet earth— as thick as honey and so potent Dunk could almost taste it on the back of his tongue. The scent made something deep in his blood recoil and stir all at once; a tightening in his chest that he didn’t like, and trusted even less.
The scent was coming from Egg.
Dunk had always been thick, but even he could not deny this. A secondary presentation was a storm they could not outrun, and Egg was far too young for this kind of trouble on the open road. They were dangerously exposed; leagues away from the nearest maester or sanctuary where a highborn omega’s needs could be managed in private. Out here, they were a beacon. Every alpha within a day’s ride would be sniffing the air like hounds on a hare.
The rain suddenly felt colder.
“Egg,” Dunk said, more carefully this time.
“What, ser?” Egg’s reply was thin, more fragile than it had been all day.
Dunk faltered. He prayed to the Seven that he was wrong, but the sweetness was growing, syrupy and undeniable.
“I don’t think you’re sick, lad.” The words were heavy and hesitant. “I think you’re going into heat.”
Egg’s eyes widened. The color leached from his face until he was as pale as a weirwood, before a flash of desperate anger took hold.
“I’m not—you’re lying! Why would you lie, ser?” He was panting, his breath coming out ragged. “My father had me checked by a maester before we left. He said…he said there weren’t enough signs yet, that I had more time…”
Dunk felt a surge of protectiveness. “Easy, lad,” he soothed, his instincts rising. “My words are true. The maesters, for all their chains and books, cannot predict the turn of every fever. Nature has its own will.”
Egg shook his head. “You have to be mistaken ser, it must be—” He broke off, his face contorting into a grimace. He dropped the reins entirely, clutching at his stomach as he doubled over. The last of his insolence vanished, replaced by raw, naked terror.
“Ser, you cannot leave me!”
Dunk looked at him in bewilderment. Leave him? The thought was as foreign to him as a castle of his own. “Easy,” he said again, reaching out a massive hand to steady the boy. “You’re working yourself into a fit. We must find shelter, and quickly.”
Egg was trembling now, a wild, desperate look in his eyes. “Where?”
Dunk exhaled slowly, squinting through the downpour as he scanned the horizon. “There’s an old holdfast that’s hidden off the road,” he said, more to himself than the boy. “Ruined. The roof is half gone, but there’s enough stone left to keep the wind off our backs. We can’t risk the inn, not like this.”
Egg didn’t argue, a pained grunt escaping him. In the gloom, he looked smaller than Dunk had ever seen him. “You can’t leave me, ser,” he whispered again. “You have to stay.”
The boy’s eyes were watering, and Dunk could not remember the last time he had seen him cry. It unsettled him more than a dozen sellswords would have.
“I’m not leaving you,” Dunk promised. He put his full strength into the words, and Egg seemed to sag, believing him at last.
Dunk glanced back at the encroaching dark. “But we must hurry,” he added
He reached over and caught the reins of Egg’s mount. With a sharp click of his tongue, he urged Thunder forward, leading both beasts off the main road and into the sodden grass.
Egg remained silent beside him, his head bowed against the elements. The rain continued to beat mercilessly against them, and Dunk felt the weight of what was coming settle into his bones.
The holdfast looked even more sorry up close.
Its outer wall had long since collapsed into heaps of slick stone, swallowed by moss and weeds. The yard beyond had fared no better. What might have once been a place of drills and commerce was now a pool of mud and stagnant rainwater. One tower still stood, though it leaned crookedly against the sky, its upper half split open like a cracked tooth.
Dunk led the horses beneath the rotting remains of a stable overhang. The wood groaned under the weight of the damp, but it held. After dismounting, he immediately turned toward Egg.
The boy sat hunched in the saddle, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Hold your arms out,” Dunk said gently.
Egg obeyed, though the simple movement seemed to drain him of what little strength remained. His pale hands trembled in the air, grasping at nothing. Dunk reached up and lifted him bodily from the saddle; the boy felt as light as a bundle of dry sticks. When Egg’s boots hit the muck, his knees buckled instantly, his legs turning to water.
Dunk caught him, pulling him flush against his chest to hold him upright. Even through their soaked layers, the heat radiated off of the boy in feverish waves, hot enough to sting. And the scent—seven hells—the scent, was stronger than ever. Sweet like overripe fruit left out in the sun, it wound its way into Dunk’s senses until his own head began to swim.
Egg made a faint, broken sound in the back of his throat, his fingers clutching desperately at the rough fabric of Dunk’s shoulders. “Dunk,” he whispered. It was a plea, though for what, Dunk could not guess.
Dunk’s hands tightened around him instinctively, steadying the boy against his own towering frame. “Can you walk?”
The question seemed to snap a cord of clarity in Egg’s mind. He grew rigid, suddenly realizing how heavily he was leaning on Dunk. A frantic flush of humiliation rose in his cheeks, deeper than the fever. “I can walk,” he affirmed, but the words shook badly, rattling in his chest.
Dunk sighed softly. Pride is the downfall of all boys, he thought. Dunk would know. I’ve enough of it myself. “It’s no trouble lad,” he reassured him. Ignoring the boy’s weak protest, Dunk hooked an arm under his knees and scooped him up. Egg’s face flushed even darker as his head rolled involuntarily against Dunk’s chest, his strength finally spent.
The inside of the tower was marginally better than the ruin outside. Most of the roof still held here, though rain crept steadily through the cracks, dripping with a rhythmic tink-tink-tink into the shadows. Old rushes littered the floor, blackened piles that smelled of damp earth and neglect.
Dunk settled Egg in the driest corner he could find, tucked beside a cold, soot-stained hearth. He set to work immediately, his large hands fumbling with flint to coax a fire from the few scraps of dry wood that remained. He managed a weak flame, but Egg didn’t reach for the warmth; he curled away from it instead, his brow slick with sweat.
Dunk crouched nearby, watching the boy’s shallow breaths as he tried to figure out what to do.
The scent was everywhere. It emerged from Egg’s skin in heavy pulses, stronger each time the boy exhaled. Dunk understood now, with a grim and hollow certainty, exactly how dangerous the inn would have been.
Dunk scrubbed a hand over his face, his palm rasping against the stubble on his jaw. “Seven save us,” he muttered.
Egg looked up blearily, his eyes half-lidded and rimmed with red. “Ser?”
Dunk hesitated, the words catching in his throat, then said, very carefully. “Your scent is getting stronger, Egg.”
Egg went very still. The fever-flush on his cheeks was eclipsed by a deep crimson that raced down his neck. “Oh,” he breathed.
The one word held so much naked shame that Dunk instantly regretted saying anything at all. It was the sound of a boy realizing his own body had betrayed him.
Egg turned his face away sharply, drawing his knees closer to his chest. He looked like he wanted to shrink until he disappeared into the rotting floorboards.
“I know,” he said after a long, suffocating silence. His voice was tight. “I can smell it too.”
Dunk shifted uncomfortably, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I’m going to have to cover it.”
Egg clenched his eyes shut, his entire body trembling.
Dunk cleared his throat. “I have to. We need to disguise it. If anyone rides near this place…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished but heavy. I can’t fight off everyone, he thought. But Egg seemed to hear it just the same.
He gave a tiny, jerky nod without looking at him.
Dunk moved closer slowly, his muscles drawn tight with a tension he couldn’t quite name. He knelt over the boy, his shadow blanketing him. With careful, calloused fingers, he undid the clasp of Egg’s collar, baring the pale, sweat-slicked column of his throat.
Dunk hesitated, his pulse drumming in his fingertips. He was just about to press the underside of his wrist against the scent gland there when Egg’s eyes fluttered open.
“I’m sorry, ser, that you have to do this,” Egg said miserably, his voice cracking. “I know you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to. I know that alphas…they don’t like scenting omegas they don’t intend to…” he trailed off, his face crumpling in mortification.
Dunk froze. The air in the tower suddenly felt thin. His chest ached for Egg; the boy apologizing for a nature he couldn’t control.
“Egg,” Dunk said, his voice deeper than usual. “I don’t mind.”
I want to, he almost added, the thought rising unbidden and fierce from within him. He caught the words just in time, swallowing them back down.
Egg didn’t look convinced, worrying his lower lip.
“I don’t mind,” Dunk repeated, more firmly this time.
He leaned in then, pressing the musk-laden skin of his wrist against the burning pulse point of Egg’s throat. He did it tenderly, rubbing in smooth, slow circles.
The effect was immediate.
Egg’s mouth fell open, a long, shaky gasp escaping him as the tension drained from his body. His limbs uncurled, his frame going loose and pliant.
“Dunk,” he breathed.
Hearing his name spoken that way, with that much raw, desperate relief, caused something hot and possessive to surge through Dunk’s blood.
Mine. The thought was absolute. Terrified by the intensity of it, Dunk shoved the instinct down viciously, forcing his heart to slow. He was a hedge knight and Egg was a prince. Some thoughts were too dangerous to even contemplate.
He pulled his hand back quicker than he meant to.
Egg blinked at him, looking startled. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question sounded so genuinely worried that guilt hit Dunk like a stone.
“No,” he said, the word coming out too fast. “No, lad.”
Egg watched him uncertainly.
Dunk stood abruptly, turning away to tend to the fire again. He stared hard into the flames until his breathing slowed.
Behind him, Egg shifted weakly. “I’ve ruined everything,” he rasped.
Dunk frowned and looked back immediately. “What are you talking about?”
Egg’s face burned red again. “I was the one who lied. I knew my heat was coming before we even left Summerhall.” He swallowed hard, his eyes glassy. “Father would never have let me go on the road with you if he knew. I read about a tea—some herbalist’s brew—that was meant to mask the symptoms. It was supposed to last a full turn of the moon.”
He turned away, the shame radiating off of him more fiercely than the fever. “I didn’t want to be separated from you. Not yet.” He paused, his voice falling so faint Dunk barely heard it. “Not ever.”
The confession seemed to have exhausted him, leaving only feverish vulnerability behind.
Dunk stared at him, the words rattling around his skull like loose stones. He ought to be angry. By the seven, he was angry . The boy had lied, put himself at risk—put them both at risk.
But the anger couldn’t gain a foothold against the echo of those two words. Not ever.
“You little fool,” Dunk muttered. He crossed the small space in a single stride and pressed a hand to Egg’s forehead. The heat was alarming. It was a wonder the boy hadn’t burst into flames.
He cupped Egg’s neck lightly, his thumbs resting just beneath the boy’s jawline. He leaned in, letting his own scent fall thick from his wrists, a steadying anchor for the boy’s spiraling senses.
Egg let out a long, shuddering breath.
“Better?” Dunk asked, his voice softening despite himself.
Egg nodded weakly. “Better.”
Dunk stared at Egg long after the boy’s breathing had steadied.
He lay with his head in Dunk’s lap, tucked beneath the rough wool of his cloak. Dunk ran his fingers through matted hair, his calloused fingertips scratching lightly at the boy’s scalp. The brown dye was failing, and thin streaks of silver were beginning to peek through where the rain and sweat had washed the common color away. Every so often another violent shiver would rack the boy’s body, though his skin remained hot to the touch.
A proper maester would know what to do. They would have tonics to break the fever and cooling draughts to soothe his parched throat—suppressant herbs to dull the scent, and nesting cloths steeped in calming oils to quiet his restlessness. They would have something to alleviate his misery. Dunk had none of it. Only himself.
The realization sat like lead in his stomach.
Egg shifted, a low sound of discomfort caught in his throat.
Dunk leaned over him. “What hurts?”
Egg laughed faintly, the sound weak with exhaustion. “Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth, ser.”
Dunk frowned, his gaze lingering on the boy. Egg’s lashes fluttered low. His face was terribly flushed now, his lips parted slightly with uneven breaths. Every few moments his body would tense sharply, as if a hand were gripping him from the inside.
Dunk knew enough to understand what that meant.
An omega’s heat was not meant to be endured alone, and the weight of that truth pressed against his ribs until his chest felt tight.
He pressed a damp cloth against the crook of Egg’s neck, and the deep furrow in the boy’s brow eased slightly.
“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” Egg asked quietly.
Dunk hesitated, which was answer enough. Egg swallowed hard.
“I’m not as sheltered as you think,” the boy continued after a moment. A small, humorless smile flickered across his face. “The maesters kept books about omega heats. They had me read them a while back, so I’d know what to expect.”
The boy’s eyes tightened at the corners. “The scenting,” he gestured vaguely to the cloak Dunk had wrapped him in. “It only eases things for a little while.”
Dunk cleared his throat, the sound rough as gravel. “Aye.”
“And without tonics or anything else...” Egg’s voice trailed off, the sentence hanging heavy in the air.
They both knew what would happen. Egg’s heat would continue to build, and Dunk did not know how long that small body could endure the strain of it.
Egg looked at him carefully now, fever-bright eyes searching his face. “You know what would help.”
Dunk went perfectly still. “No.”
“But—”
“No,” Dunk repeated sharply.
Egg flinched slightly at the tone, but didn’t back down. “I want you,” he pressed. “Do you not want me?” He paused, his voice dropping. “I used to be so sure that you didn’t. But I think I was wrong.”
Dunk suddenly felt enormous in the small tower. Too warm, too aware, and too full of instincts he did not trust.
“You’re fevered,” he said roughly. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
Egg pushed himself upright, trembling with the effort. “You think I haven’t thought about this? Even when the fever wasn’t there?” He stared at Dunk with a terrifying clarity. “I would think about you, when I’d feel a heat in my belly. I thought about your cock and your knot. I wondered what it would feel like to be stretched wide by you.”
Dunk’s face went red, a burning heat crawling up his neck. “Stop talking.”
“It’s the truth,” Egg insisted, his pupils blown wide and dark. “I’d touch myself and dream of it. Of what it would feel like to have you inside me. If you just held me down and—”
“Enough!” Dunk snapped, the word echoing off the damp stone.
Egg’s expression sharpened, the hurt in his eyes cutting through the haze of his exhaustion. “Why? Does it embarrass you?”
“It should embarrass you,” Dunk bit out.
Egg recoiled like he’d been struck. The defiance vanished, replaced by a hollow look of shame.
The anger drained out of Dunk instantly, leaving nothing but cold regret. “I didn’t mean that.”
He took a deep breath, his lungs burning as he tried to sort through the tangled mess of his thoughts. “This is wrong lad, all of it.”
Egg’s voice cracked, high and fragile against the rhythm of the rain. “Why?”
“You’re a prince,” Dunk said, his voice low and strained. He looked down at his hands. They were calloused and scarred. Meant for holding a shield, not touching royalty. “You deserve better than this.”
Egg stared at him. “Better than what?”
“Better than some bastard hedge knight from Flea Bottom,” Dunk snapped. The confession slipped free before he could stop it, born of a lifetime of being told he was nothing. “Better than me.”
Egg’s eyes widened, the shock lasting only a heartbeat before it was replaced by hot, sudden anger. “How could you say that?” he asked, his voice thick with dismay.
Dunk gave a short, humorless bark of a laugh. “It’s the truth boy. I know what I am.”
“It’s not the truth!” Egg said fiercely. “I don’t care where you were born, or what your titles are. I care that you’re a good man.”
Dunk looked away, his throat tightening. “It’s not enough.”
“It is to me.”
The quiet conviction in the boy’s voice pulled Dunk’s gaze back as if by a tether.
Egg looked spent—feverish, trembling, and utterly sincere. He leaned forward, his face inches from Dunk’s, his breaths coming in shallow, sweet-scented hitches. “So tell me plainly ser, do you want me as well?”
Dunk’s heart hammered against his ribs. Yes, he wanted to say. How couldn’t I? Yet the words remained stuck in his throat.
But something must’ve shown on his face—a softening of his eyes, or the tell-tale flare of his nostrils—because Egg’s expression transformed with sudden relief. “You do,” he whispered, a breathless laugh escaping him. “Don’t you?”
Dunk stared at him helplessly. “Egg,” he rasped.
Egg watched him with a devastating, aching trust. Carefully, as though approaching a wild beast, he cupped his small, burning hand around Dunk’s jaw.
“Please.”
The first press of their lips was soft, barely a brush. I must be careful, Dunk reminded himself.
But Egg had no such reservations. He surged forward, sliding their lips together boldly, clumsy in his eagerness, and Dunk found himself smiling against him.
He could have stayed there for days, licking into Egg’s mouth, but the boy suddenly drew back with a sharp gasp, his face pinching in pain.
“Dunk,” he said, a tinge of fear in his voice. His hands flew to his middle, clutching at his stomach.
Dunk had never spent a heat with an omega before, though he’d heard other alpha’s bragging about it in the past. They spoke of cramping and whining, of how an omega became a creature of pure, desperate need. You could take them a hundred times, but only a knot would truly settle the fire in their blood.
“Lie back,” Dunk said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing rumble. “Let me see you.”
Egg hesitated, his fingers twisting in the hem of his trousers. “There’s so much...I don’t know if you’ll like—” he stopped, unable to finish.
Dunk’s eyes dropped before he could stop himself.
Slick.
Darkening the fabric between Egg’s thighs.
Egg hunched in on himself, looking miserable. “It’s everywhere,” he choked out.
Dunk leaned in, softening his voice to the one he used for frightened colts. “It’s natural.”
Egg looked away, his jaw tight. “That doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”
“It’s not disgusting,” Dunk said. Then, before he could think. “I’d taste you, if you’d let me.”
Egg’s face flamed a brilliant, startled crimson. For a moment, Dunk thought he would be refused, and he would not have taken offense. He knew the lad wasn’t comfortable with his presentation yet— that this was all strange and frightening to him.
Dunk was content to put his mouth elsewhere: to the plush press of Egg’s lips, the pulse point of his neck, and perhaps his chest, if that was all the boy could handle.
But as Dunk sat there, watching the play of emotions across Egg’s face, the boy’s knuckles began to lose their white-peaked tension. Tentatively, his grip on his trousers loosened, and he slipped the damp fabric slowly down his legs.
He looked small and impossibly pale in the dimness, his knees knocking together as he tried to shield himself from Dunk’s gaze.
Dunk didn’t let him. He knelt between Egg’s trembling thighs, spreading them apart with firm hands.
“Easy lad,” Dunk murmured. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You’re beautiful.”
Egg huffed, his hands flying to cover his face. “Don’t look ser. It’s…I can feel it. It’s a mess.”
Dunk gently caught Egg’s wrists, pulling his hands away so he could look him in the eyes. “Look at me. I told you I’d taste you, didn’t I?”
Egg bit his lip, but gave a sharp, jerky nod. Dunk offered him a small, reassuring grin before pressing his face forward. The scent was dizzying now, sweet and heavy like honey. He saw the slickness glistening in the tender folds of Egg’s entrance, and felt his own eyes darken with hunger.
He pressed a kiss there, soft and fleeting. Egg bolted upright, a sharp gasp catching in his throat. “Dunk—”
“Shhh,” Dunk chided gently, his hands anchoring the boy. “Relax. You’re doing so well for me.”
He guided Egg back down and swiped his tongue in one long, broad stroke from bottom to top.
Egg’s back arched, a high, keen whine escaping him. His thighs instinctively tried to clamp shut, but Dunk’s shoulders were an immovable wedge between them.
“There’s my brave lad,” Dunk whispered against the wet skin, his hot breath making Egg shiver. “So sweet. I knew you’d taste like summer.”
Dunk settled in, his thumbs spreading Egg’s folds to expose the hidden heat. He began to lap at him, tasting the salt of sweat and the honeyed richness of his slick, his tongue heavy and insistent.
Egg’s shyness began to melt. His head fell back against the floor, his protests dying in his throat, replaced by soft, stuttering whimpers that spurred Dunk on.
“That’s it,” Dunk praised, the sound muffled against the boy’s skin. “You’re so wet for me Egg.”
Dunk moved his attention to Egg’s red, swollen bud next, wrapping his lips around it and sucking. Egg let out a choked sob, his hips lifting to press against Dunk’s face.
“Dunk,” he whined, his voice thin and pleading.
Dunk sucked once, twice, three times, pulling back just enough to look up. The boy’s entrance was weeping now, clenching around nothing. Dunk looked at Egg’s face—those violet eyes blown wide and dark, his lips parted as he panted for air.
“You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”
Egg didn’t answer with words. His fingers tangled in Dunk’s hair, tugging with a sudden, fevered strength. He pulled Dunk upward, desperate to bridge the gap, and pressed their mouths together once more. The kiss was messy and salt-slicked, fueled by the rising tide of Egg’s desire.
As they kissed, Dunk felt his own restraint begin to fray. His hands, rough from years of gripping sword hilts and reins, slid beneath the hem of Egg’s tunic. The skin of the boy’s stomach was unnervingly soft and radiated scorching heat. Dunk pushed the damp linen upward, barring Egg’s pale chest to the cool, drafty air of the tower.
In the flickering light of the dying fire, Dunk thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Egg’s skin looked like polished bone, his nipples flushed a deep, fevered pink. Dunk gave him one last lingering kiss before trailing his lips downward. He pressed his mouth to the gentle swell of Egg’s chest, teeth nipping softly at the peak.
“Dunk,” Egg breathed. “I want to see you too.”
His hands fumbled at the heavy fabric of Dunk’s tunic. Shaky and weak from the fever, Egg struggled with the weight of the wool until Dunk sat back, helping him pull the garment over his head.
The air hit Dunk’s bare skin, but he hardly felt the chill. Egg’s hands were on him immediately, tracing the broad lines of his shoulders and the jagged map of scars that crisscrossed his chest. Though he had seen Dunk stripped for a wash a thousand times, he touched him now as if seeing him for the first time—with a hungry, reverent curiosity.
Dunk watched him fondly, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not pretty and smooth like you, lad,” he teased lightly.
Egg looked at him, his purple eyes dark and burning. “I’m glad you aren’t,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a particularly deep notch at Dunk’s shoulder. “I like you just like this, ser.”
Then, Egg leaned forward. He pressed a deliberate kiss of his own to a puckered scar that ran across Dunk’s collar bone, a mark earned in a nameless tavern brawl some years ago. The touch was feather-light, a ghost of a caress, but it made Dunk’s entire frame shudder.
Want replaced the reverence in Egg’s eyes. His hands dropped to the fastenings of Dunk’s breeches, his brow furrowing in irritation as his sweat-slicked fingers fumbled with the ties. A low, needy growl vibrated in his throat. A sound so unprincely it made Dunk’s pulse leap.
“Hush,” Dunk rumbled, catching the boy’s wrists. “There’s no rush. We’ve got the whole night.”
But Egg looked lost to the fever, his head tossed back as he tried to wrench his hands free to continue his work.
Dunk let out a huff of a laugh. Gently, but firmly, he nudged the boy’s hands aside. With the practiced ease of a man used to dressing in the dark, he made quick work of the rest of their sodden clothes, leaving them in a discarded heap on the floor.
When Dunk moved back over him, the contrast was staggering. He felt like a monster of a man—all scarred muscle and heavy bone— while Egg lay beneath him like a lithe slip of a thing, all smooth lines and pale skin.
Mindful of his own brute strength, Dunk hovered on braced arms, taking painstaking care not to crush the boy under the sheer weight of his frame.
“Please ser,” Egg babbled, his body coiling and uncoiling in a restless, fevered rhythm. Frustrated tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. “It’s hurting.”
If Dunk had more time, he’d learn the map of the boy’s body with his mouth and fingers first. He’d trace every inch until Egg was nothing but a soft, pliant ruin beneath him. He would have waited until the boy was so slick and open that Dunk could slide home with no more resistance than a sword into a well oiled scabbard.
But the boy was a ball of agony, and Dunk knew that only a knot could douse his fire. Dunk’s own blood was thrumming, his cock heavy and stone-hard. With a steadying breath, he guided himself to the weeping heat of the boy’s entrance.
Egg tensed instantly.
“It will hurt at first,” Dunk told him plainly. He had never been a man for flowery lies. He knew the vast difference in their sizes, and he wouldn’t insult the boy by pretending otherwise. “But only for a little while, I promise.” I hope, he added silently to the Seven.
He began to push, sliding in with excruciating slowness. He felt Egg’s muscles stretching, as taut as a bowstring, trembling with the sheer effort of accommodating him. The boy’s breaths hitched into a series of jagged, shallow sobs.
He was only halfway in when Egg’s hands clawed against his chest, pushing weakly against the broad, unyielding bulk. His face was contorted, his eyes wide with the sharp clarity of pain.
“I can’t, ser,” he whined, the title coming out as a broken plea. “You’re too big…please, I can’t do it.”
Dunk eased back a fraction, and the lines of agony in Egg’s face softened. The boy’s breath escaped in a long, shuddering exhale, though his body remained tight.
Dunk warred with himself, his mind a fog of conflicting instincts. He wanted to stop—to spare the boy a moment’s discomfort—but the grim reality stayed his hand. If he withdrew now, the fever would only surge back with a vengeance. An unbroken heat could rack a body for days; looking at the way Egg was already trembling, Dunk knew the boy didn’t have the strength to endure it.
“Touch yourself, sweet boy,” he instructed gently. “Your bud. Right there. Do it while I’m inside you, it’ll help ease the way.”
Egg looked up at him, a swirl of uncertainty, lingering pain, and shyness playing across his features. Slowly, with fingers that shook, he reached down and touched himself hesitantly.
Dunk stayed as still as a stone carving, his back ramrod straight. Every muscle in his massive frame bunched with the tortuous effort of remaining motionless, even as he felt the boy’s slickness coat him.
“A little harder,” Dunk urged, his voice strained. “There, just like that.”
Egg’s gaze flickered to him for a fleeting, shy moment as his rhythm grew more certain. Under the friction of his own touch, the boy’s cunt began to weep freely, his body finally surrendering. Dunk let out a long, ragged breath as Egg’s entrance began to yield, the tight muscles finally relaxing their grip and opening up around him.
Dunk pressed in again. Egg’s face pinched at the renewed intrusion, but the resistance was fading.
“Keep going,” Dunk encouraged, his hands moving to Egg’s hips to steady him. “You’re doing so well for me Egg, just a bit more.”
He slid deeper and deeper, the wet heat of the boy’s core swallowing him inch by inch, until at last, their hips met.
Egg’s hands abandoned his own body to find purchase on Dunk’s forearms, his fingernails digging into the skin. He steeled his spine as Dunk began to thrust, slow and deliberate.
A sharp gasp escaped Egg at the first full stroke, his eyes watering once more. But he did not plead for Dunk to stop.
“That’s it,” Dunk rumbled. “There you go, lad. Just like that.”
The glide was easier now, the boy’s body relaxing as it adjusted. The tension that had bunched Egg’s shoulders toward his ears began to melt away. Dunk pushed a little deeper, a little harder, testing the limits of the boy’s newfound ease. When Egg finally let out a moan, his gaze went wide, looking startled by the sound.
Dunk chuckled lowly. “Didn’t I tell you? You were made for this.”
Eggs moans grew more frequent and more desperate as Dunk’s length began to graze the sensitive point deep inside him. His slick was flowing freely, a honeyed balm that eased the friction.
Dunk was fucking in earnest now, his pace powerful and steady. He felt the shift in his own blood—the sudden, heavy throb at the base of his cock that signaled the beginning of the end. His knot began to swell, a hard, growing pressure that stretched Egg even further.
“I feel it, ser,” Egg gasped. “I feel you growing.”
Dunk let out a ragged laugh at the boy’s wonder. His thrusts became slower as the swelling made movement nearly impossible.
When the knot finally locked them together, Egg let out a cry, his legs clenching around Dunk’s waist as a fresh gush of slick wet the floor beneath them. Egg peaked, and the sensation was too much for Dunk to withstand. He groaned, his head dropping into the crook of the boy’s neck as he spent his release, filling him with his seed.
Egg’s fever broke just as Dunk’s knot softened. Exhaustion from the day’s trials had dragged the boy under the moment the heat left him, leaving him limp and still. Moving quietly, Dunk retrieved his cloak; though the wool was still damp and smelled of woodsmoke, it provided a much-needed barrier against the drafty tower. He pulled Egg into his lap, covering them as best as he could, and rested his hand on the boy’s back—tracing slow circles to ground him even in his slumber.
Dunk, however, could not rest. He sat against the cold stone wall, his eyes fixed on the crumbling entrance of the holdfast. Every shift of the wind, every rustle of the wet leaves outside made his blood run cold. He remained on edge, keenly aware that a wandering alpha might catch the lingering sweetness of Egg’s heat and come hunting.
Egg murmured in his sleep, his head lolling against Dunk’s thigh. Dunk caught his own name once or twice. Not a plea this time, but a soft, contented sound. In the pre-dawn light, the boy’s face looked remarkably handsome, the frantic lines of pain smoothed away by a deep, honest rest.
Dunk watched him, his heart heavy with the weight of the future. The reality of what they had done settled into his bones like a chill. Should they set foot in Summerhall now, the musk of a hedge knight would be all over a Prince. Every knight, every servant, every royal member of the household would know that an alpha from the gutters had taken what he had no right to claim.
He could see the look on Prince Maekar’s face—a cold, stone fury that would likely end with Dunk’s head on a spike.
We could wait, he told himself. They could keep to the backroads and the deep woods for a few weeks, blaming the weather for the delay until their scents settled, and the evidence of the night faded. But Dunk gritted his teeth at the thought. The idea of hiding Egg away like some shameful secret sat ill with him, and he suspected the boy’s pride would never allow it.
As the first streaks of dawn crept through the cracks in the masonry, Dunk was no closer to an answer. His future felt as grey and uncertain as the morning mist.
When Egg finally stirred, blinking away the last of his exhaustion, he looked straight up at Dunk. He took one glance at the hedge knight’s haggard, brooding face and let out a soft, knowing sigh.
“You’re thinking again, ser,” Egg rasped, voice still muddled with sleep. “And being thick about it, I’d wager.”
Dunk gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “You’d be thinking too, if you feared your head was to be separated from your shoulders in the near future.”
Egg snorted. “My father will be angry,” he allowed, though a small wince betrayed his true thoughts. “But he can be reasoned with. Eventually.”
Dunk pictured the harsh, iron-willed alpha in his mind and felt a grimace pull at his features. Reasoned with? The man had never been overly fond of Dunk to begin with. Now he had given the Prince a reason to truly despise him.
Dunk voiced his worries aloud, the words heavy in the damp air. “He’ll be beyond furious lad. I’m certain he had plans for you—some high lord or cousin for you to marry—someone with a name that actually means something.” He reached down, pulling Egg up into his arms and holding him close, as if he could shield the boy from the coming storm. “He’ll want to separate us. He’ll likely try and send me to the wall— after he’s cut my cock off for ruining you.”
Egg scowled, pushing back against Dunk’s chest just enough to look him in the eye. “You didn’t ruin me,” he snapped. His tone made it clear he had no patience for Dunk’s self loathing, or his choice of words.
Dunk felt a pang of guilt, and pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to Egg’s lips. It was a silent plea of forgiveness, tasting of salt and the cold morning air.
Egg gentled then, his anger melting back into the quiet vulnerability of the dawn. He stayed silent for a long moment, watching the way the light caught the dust motes in the room. Then, without preamble, he spoke.
“I dreamed of you.”
Dunk startled, a sudden, cold dread winding up his spine. He remembered the words of Egg’s brother Daeron; the drunkard who drowned his nightmares in his cups. Targaryen dreams were never just dreams. They were omens.
“What did you see?” Dunk asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Egg saw the flicker of fear in Dunk’s eyes, and his expression melted into something tender and sure.
“They were good dreams Dunk,” he said softly. He traced the scarred flesh on Dunk’s chest, grounding them both. “We were sitting in a field of high grass, with the sun hot on my neck. Your hair was long, longer than you’ve ever worn it. My mark was on your throat, and I knew your bite was on mine.” He paused, a private smile touching his lips. “In my lap, I held a babe.”
Dunk’s eyes widened, his heart giving a startled, heavy thump against his ribs. The sheer impossibility of it—a hedge knight and a prince, a family, a future—left him breathless.
Egg laughed, a light, musical sound that chased the damp chill from the tower. “He was a fat little thing, with my silver hair and your blue eyes. He had your stubborn chin, too.” His tone turned wistful. “I loved him already, Dunk. I could feel it in my chest. And I knew you did, too.”
He went quiet then, his hand stilling on Dunk’s heart. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, carrying a weight that made the hair on Dunk’s arms stand up. “I could tell it wasn’t a regular dream. The colors were too bright, and the air smelled of summer rain. It felt…true.”
He looked at Dunk, his violet eyes burning with a sudden, fierce conviction. “I know it’s going to come to pass. I’m not worried anymore, and you shouldn’t be either. We’re going to stay together.”
Dunk looked at him—really looked at him. He saw the boy who had shorn his hair to follow a nobody into the dust, now transformed into a Prince with fire in his blood and the certainty of destiny in his gaze. The suffocating fear in his chest finally eased, replaced by a burning warmth that had nothing to do with the guttering fire.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to Egg’s with a feverish intensity. Egg met him with just as much passion, his fingers knotting in Dunk’s hair and pulling him closer, as if trying to mesh them into one.
“Trust me, ser,” Egg whispered against his mouth, his breath warm and sweet. “Trust the dream.”
And Dunk, thick-headed and lowborn as he was, finally did.