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    Summary

    Aerion's bright, furious eyes stared daggers at Dunk, a promise of unending pain and suffering already taking hold as his lips opened to, no doubt, spew words so despicable Dunk was about to lash out in a new wave of fury without even hearing them.
    But then, as the Prince approached him with all the wrath and madness of the beast on his banners, he suddenly stopped in his tracks; It took but a second for it to hit Dunk; that scent, the Prince's scent, strong and alluring and captivating and powerful like he had never felt before. Dunk's breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a long second as he breathed it in, breathed Aerion Targaryen in; at once, his body failed, knees buckling, the Kingsguards cursing at the sudden unsupported weight.

    He was an omega.

    *

    “Kill you? No, oaf, I don’t mean to kill you. I mean to use you, and if you do a good enough job of keeping still like a good boy, then maybe I’ll let you go with one or two limbs intact. After, you know…” He tilted his head again, eyes settling on a predatory, ravening look. “After you quench this fire you have foolishly, mindlessly ignited. You've woken the Dragon, Ser Duncan, and now you will do your job and calm him back down.”

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