She tried to mask it, but Alaric's heightened senses caught the sharp, involuntary wince that crossed her face as she moved. Underneath the pale silk of her dress, Myrcella was absolutely wrecked.
Her limbs felt heavy and weak, her inner thighs deeply sore from the marathon of physical dominance he had put her through.
Her core ached with a dull, throbbing heat, a constant physical reminder of exactly how thoroughly he had claimed her. Her pale skin was painted in dark purple love bites, hidden just beneath the high collar of her dress.
Alaric didn't press her on the soreness. He knew exactly what he had done to her. He crossed the room, stopping just a few feet away.
"You look better," Alaric noted, his voice a low, steady rumble. "The maids took care of you?"
"Yes," Myrcella said, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "They drew a hot bath. They were... very efficient."
"Good. Because you need to pack your bags," Alaric said flatly.
Myrcella blinked, her green eyes widening in sudden panic. Her hands instinctively gripped the fabric of her dress. "Pack? Are... are you sending me away? Did I do something wrong last night?"
"No," Alaric corrected smoothly, stepping a fraction closer. "You did perfectly last night. But I am not leaving you here in the palace to pace the halls while I am gone. I'm marching west to crush your grandfather and Stannis Baratheon. I'm asking if you want to tag along."
The panic in her chest instantly dissolved, replaced by a massive, overwhelming wave of relief. He wasn't discarding her. He wanted to keep her close.
"I... Yes," Myrcella breathed, the blush deepening on her cheeks. "I would like that very much."
Alaric nodded, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Before we leave, there is a matter we need to settle. Your family."
Myrcella stiffened. The memory of her mother and little brother locked in the damp, freezing cells beneath the green glass crater had been eating at her all day. She had given Alaric absolutely everything he demanded to keep them alive.
"They won't be staying in the dungeons," Alaric said, his tone entirely pragmatic. "But I can't let them walk the streets, and I can't put them in the main palace. Half the lords in my army lost family to Tywin Lannister's vanguard. If the soldiers or the smallfolk find out Cersei Lannister is breathing free air, someone will slit her throat in the night, and I don't have the time to baby-sit them."
Myrcella swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Then... what will happen to them?"
"I've had my Blood Scouts secure a private, walled manse just outside the palace perimeter," Alaric explained. "It's heavily guarded. I am moving your mother and Tommen there tonight. Their identities will be completely erased. To the rest of the world, Cersei and the boy-king died in the wildfire explosion. As long as they stay inside those walls and keep their mouths shut, they will be fed, protected, and kept entirely secret."
Myrcella stared at him, her lips parting in sheer disbelief. He wasn't just sparing them; he was actively protecting them from the mob. He was keeping his promise.
The last remaining wall in Myrcella's mind completely shattered. The System had already registered her loyalty at 92 out of 100, but in that moment, it solidified into absolute, unbreakable devotion.
Alaric looked down at her, seeing the absolute surrender shining in her green eyes. He didn't need a glowing blue System interface to tell him that he had completely conquered the Lannister princess. The terrified hostage was gone; in her place was a woman entirely devoted to him.
He reached out, his large, calloused hand sliding to the back of her neck. His thumb brushed lightly just beneath the high collar of her dress, grazing the dark purple bruises he had left there the night before.
He leaned down and captured her lips.
Myrcella melted against him instantly. It wasn't the hesitant, fearful kiss of a captive in the dungeons, nor the clumsy, eager attempt of a novice on the grassy hill. It was a deep, desperate kiss fueled by overwhelming gratitude and absolute submission.
She parted her lips willingly, her hands sliding up his broad chest to tangle tightly in the dark fabric of his tunic. Alaric took complete control of the rhythm, his mouth moving over hers with a heavy, possessive demand that made her knees feel weak.
When Alaric finally pulled back, Myrcella was entirely breathless. Her cheeks were flushed a brilliant crimson, her chest heaving as she rested her forehead against his chest.
She kept her hands firmly fisted in his tunic, deeply reluctant to step away from his radiating, comforting heat.
"I..." Myrcella started, her voice a soft, breathy whisper. She blinked, her dazed green eyes slowly coming back into focus as she remembered his initial order. "I don't have much to pack, Alaric. Just the few simple dresses the maids brought me, and some riding clothes."
Alaric let out a low, vibrating rumble of amusement. "That's fine. You won't need heavy silk gowns and gold embroidery in a war camp anyway. Pack whatever you have. If you need anything else on the road, I will have the System provide it."
He stepped back, letting his hand drop from her neck, though the lingering warmth of his touch remained on her skin.
"Be ready by dawn," Alaric ordered, his tone shifting back to the steady, commanding voice of a King preparing for war. "We have a long ride ahead of us."
Myrcella didn't flinch at the abrupt shift in his demeanor. She gave a firm, resolute nod, her eyes shining with unwavering loyalty.
"I will be ready, my King."