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Summary
"You'll marry him in a month, under Targaryen custom. There'll be a bonding ceremony.”
The room tilts sideways, and Aerion grips the back of his chair.
"Do you realize what you're saying?! Duncan Tall? The Beast? A complete nobody who fights in underground rings… and, by the way, one of the very men you refused to let anyone punish, even after he kept training your youngest son behind your back and lied through his teeth about sticking to legitimate boxing, which—"
"I know perfectly well who he is!" Maekar slams his fist on the table. "They call him Ser now, and that title was earned in blood! This decision is final. I never wanted to force you into any marriage given the circumstances, but you'll marry Ser because the heir must be protected, and this family needs—"
"Given the circumstances? How convenient. You mean my famous Targaryen cunt, the one that could always be sold to the highest bidder? Those circumstances? There simply aren't any more cunts like it, Father! Targaryen Omega males aren't born anymore, haven't you heard? For the chance to rape a rare Omega cuntboy and fill my Targaryen cunt every fucking night, even the Blackfyres might call off the war—"