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Summary
“Yield.” His brother’s voice was firm, yet gentle.
Maekar refused to yield, and he knew not whether it was out of pride or out of a smaller, more shameful desire to remain trapped here under Baelor’s steady weight.
Take me, he thought, blindly, wildly.
Baelor could. Could do it right here, if he really wanted to, slide between Maekar’s legs and give form to whatever lived between them; take his brother’s maidenhead, take what he deserved, what would be so willingly surrendered, a perfect, complete victory.
Or: In which Maekar ends up disguising himself as a courtesan to learn more about Baelor.
This has unintended consequences.