Alaric set a new, heavy pace. Roslin's soft, breathless gasps quickly turned into loud, helpless moans. She wasn't trying to be quiet anymore. The shock was completely gone, replaced by the intense, overwhelming heat he brought with him.
Alaric shifted his grip on Sansa's hair, pulling her face close. He kissed Sansa deeply, sharing the heat of the moment, before turning his attention back to the girl beneath him.
Sansa didn't just stay pinned and watch for long. The lingering desire from her own finish made her body ache. She moved closer, sliding her arms around Alaric's broad back and pressing her bare skin against his side. She kissed his shoulder, her hands running down his chest.
Slowly, the single sound of Roslin's cries mixed with Sansa's soft, needy whimpers. The quiet tent filled with the overlapping moans of both women, the heavy creak of the wood, and the deep, rough sound of Alaric's breathing as he took them both to the absolute edge.
Time lost its meaning. The low fire in the iron brazier slowly burned down to glowing red embers. The sounds of the busy army camp outside faded away completely, leaving only the dead silence of late night.
Alaric lay flat on his back in the center of the large bed. The thick fur blanket was pulled up over his waist. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. The endless energy in his blood finally settled down, leaving him deeply relaxed.
On his right side, Sansa lay curled tightly against him. Her red hair was a tangled mess across his chest, and her bare leg was thrown casually over his. She was completely exhausted, her eyes closed, breathing in a heavy, deep sleep.
On his left side, Roslin lay flat on her back. She stared up at the dark canvas ceiling of the tent, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her entire body felt heavy, weak, and incredibly warm.
Slowly, Roslin turned her head.
Looking past Alaric's broad chest, she saw Sansa sleeping peacefully. Roslin blinked in the dim light. The sheer madness of the evening finally caught up with her. She had just shared a bed with the King and the Lady of Winterfell at the same time. She had just experienced her first time with another women on bed with her men.
Her cheeks flushed bright red all over again. But this time, there was no panic. There was no shame or urge to hide. After hours of being touched, kissed, and entirely claimed by him alongside Sansa, the boundary between them was completely gone.
Alaric shifted slightly in the dark. Without opening his eyes, he reached out his large hand and rested it heavily on Roslin's bare hip. His fingers squeezed her skin gently, pulling her a few inches closer until she was pressed firmly against his side.
Roslin looked at his calm, sleeping face. The last bit of nervous tension melted out of her muscles. She let out a soft, tired sigh, closed her eyes, and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
...
The pale morning light bled through the thick canvas of the command tent. Outside, the heavy sounds of the army waking up—horses stomping and men shouting—started to echo across the camp.
Sansa woke up first. She opened her eyes and let out a quiet breath. Alaric was still fast asleep next to her, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. On his other side, Roslin was just starting to stir, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Sansa carefully slid out from under the heavy fur blanket. The morning air was cold against her bare skin. She walked over to the pile of clothes on the floor and picked up her dark Northern dress.
A moment later, Roslin sat up. She pulled the blanket up to her chest, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as the memories of last night rushed back into her head. She looked at Sansa standing near the cold brazier.
"Good morning," Sansa said quietly, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake Alaric. She pulled her linen shift over her head.
"Good morning," Roslin whispered back. She gathered her courage, slipped out of the bed, and quickly picked up her own clothes from the floor.
As Sansa and Roslin finished lacing their dresses, a quiet voice called out from the other side of the heavy canvas flap.
"Pardon, My Ladies. I brought food."
Sansa walked over and pushed the flap aside just enough for a young camp maid to slip in. The nervous girl carried a large wooden tray loaded with fresh bread, sliced cheese, roasted apples, and a jug of watered wine. She set it down quickly on the map table, keeping her eyes glued to the floor so she wouldn't accidentally look at the King sleeping in the bed.
"Thank you," Sansa said quietly.
The maid gave a hurried bow and slipped right back out into the noisy camp.
Sansa brought two wooden stools over to the table. She looked at Roslin and gestured to the food. "Come sit. You must be starving."
Roslin didn't argue. She walked over, sat down, and immediately reached for a piece of bread. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just listening to Alaric's deep, steady breathing from the bed.
"I didn't think I would ever be able to eat normally again," Sansa whispered, cutting a slice of cheese. "After eating castle scraps for months, this tastes like a feast."
Roslin smiled around a bite of apple. "The road wasn't much better. Hard bread and dried meat every single day. He pushed the army so fast, we barely had time to light cooking fires." She glanced over at Alaric. "He never seemed to get tired, though. I swear he doesn't need to sleep like normal people."
Sansa let out a soft laugh.
Roslin giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to keep the sound down. It felt good to just sit and laugh. For the first time in a very long time, neither of them had to worry about fathers, politics, or wars. They were just two girls sharing breakfast.
The sun was fully up by the time Alaric finally opened his eyes.
He lay on his back for a moment, listening to the heavy sounds of the army camp outside. The bed beside him was empty. The thick fur blankets were folded neatly at the foot of the mattress, and the iron brazier in the corner had been restocked with fresh coals.
Alaric sat up and stretched his arms. His muscles felt rested, the supernatural energy humming smoothly in his blood.
He stood up and walked over to his clothes. He pulled on his dark trousers, slipped the black tunic over his head, and fastened his heavy leather belt. Just as he picked up his broadsword to strap it to his hip, the heavy canvas flap at the front of the tent shifted.
A man in a plain brown tunic stepped inside. It was one of his Blood Scouts. The man stopped a few feet away and gave a short, respectful bow.
"My Lord," the Scout said smoothly. "Lady Sansa and Lady Roslin left about an hour ago. They went to the main pavilion to assist Queen Margaery with the camp supply records. They asked me to inform you the moment you woke up."
Alaric gave a short nod. It made sense. Margaery was smart enough to keep them busy and build a working relationship with them instead of fighting over a bed.
"Tell them I am awake, but tell them to keep working," Alaric ordered. "I have things to handle before I go to the pavilion."
"Yes, My Lord." The Scout bowed again and slipped out of the tent.
Alaric walked over to the heavy wooden chair next to his map table and sat down. He leaned back, resting his hands on the armrests, and opened his System interface. A bright blue screen snapped into the air in front of him.
He had a new notification waiting.
[Sovereign Bond: Margaery Tyrell] [Status: Bond Level 2 Reached.] [Description: Mutual ambition and absolute political alignment achieved. The Queen of the Reach is fully committed to your rule.]
Alaric tapped the screen to open the rewards.
[Rewards...]
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