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    Summary

    “I’m with child actually,” Aerion said cooly. “So no, my dear Daeron, I am not getting fat. I am merely eating for two.”

    “Child?” The dumb creature he had let into his bed asked blankly, “where?”

    Duncan’s armor creaked as he bent and peered under the heavy table. Daeron sucked in a sharp breath.

    “What madman was stupid enough to stick their cock in you?”

    A booming thunk as the table rattled on its legs. Duncan let out a muffled curse and crawled back out. Color had drained from his face. Aerion ignored his quiet panicked attempts to catch his gaze and selected another grape from the offerings, red this time.

    Aegon jumped up onto his chair, bald little head cocked to the side. “Are you— truly?”

    “Oh, Father is going to kill you,” Daeron observed as he snatched a goblet and filled it with light summer wine. “After he flays the skin from the man that seeded you.”

    (Or the countdown for Dunk's impending demise by Maekar's mace.)

    Language:
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