The sun had completely dropped below the horizon by the time Alaric finally stepped away from his generals and the war table.
The Ivory Cloud Palace had settled into the quiet, heavily guarded stillness of night.
He walked down the marble corridors of the east wing, his heightened senses picking up the complete absence of the Black Night Maids in this particular hallway. Margaery had clearly given them strict orders to clear the entire perimeter.
Alaric reached the heavy oak doors of the master bedchamber. He rested his hand on the iron handle, took a slow breath, and pushed it open.
He stopped dead in the doorway.
The heat of the room hit him first, followed instantly by the heavy, overwhelming fragrance of lavender, almond, and crushed white roses. The heated marble floor was completely blanketed in a thick layer of flower petals.
The massive, fur-covered bed had been given the exact same treatment, but that wasn't what made Alaric's chest tighten.
Sansa, Margaery, and Roslin were sitting together in the center of the massive mattress. They weren't wearing their usual heavy Northern wools or structured Tyrell silks. Instead, all three women were dressed in incredibly sheer, flowing white silk gowns. The delicate, almost translucent fabric clung to their freshly bathed skin, looking exactly like ruined, highly scandalous wedding dresses.
On the silver nightstand right next to the bed, half a dozen transparent crystal bottles of scented oils caught the flickering light of the braziers.
Alaric actually swallowed hard, a heavy, audible gulp working its way down his throat as his eyes tracked over the impossible scene in front of him. He stepped inside and pushed the heavy oak door backward until the iron latch clicked shut, locking them in.
"You took your time coming," Sansa said, breaking the silence. She sat with her back straight, her blue eyes dark and heavy with anticipation, though the slight flush on her chest gave away her nerves.
"It's alright," Roslin chimed in softly, her hands nervously smoothing the sheer white silk covering her thighs. "He had his orders to finalize. We don't mind the wait."
Alaric unbuckled his heavy sword belt, letting the Red Eclipse drop to the floor with a heavy thud. He walked slowly toward the edge of the mattress, his boots crushing the petals on the marble.
"Isn't this... a bit much?" Alaric asked, his voice a low, rough rumble as his eyes flicked to the crystal bottles of oil.
Margaery shifted her weight, the pale silk slipping dangerously low off her shoulder. She offered him a completely wicked, unapologetic smile. "For the King of Westeros, leaving for war?" she purred, her velvet voice echoing lightly in the warm room. "Even too much is not enough, husband."
Alaric let out a slow breath. He grabbed the hem of his dark tunic, pulled it over his head, and tossed it aside. He sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning slightly under his weight. Sitting this close, the fragrant, clean smell of their skin was intoxicating. They had clearly spent hours in the bathhouse preparing for this exact moment.
Sansa and Margaery exchanged a quick, loaded look. Sansa cleared her throat softly. They were both entirely used to his physical demands by now, but the reality of sharing him all at once in the same bed was entirely new territory.
"We talked about it while we were getting ready," Sansa said, her practical nature taking the lead as she looked back at him.
"We decided we need a proper order to things," Margaery added smoothly, reaching out to rest her hand on Roslin's knee. "So, we are starting with Roslin."
Roslin flinched slightly, her brown eyes going completely wide as she looked between the two older women. "With... with me?" she asked, her voice a tiny, innocent squeak. She instinctively pulled her knees together. "But you two..."
"And you are carrying his child too," Sansa said firmly, shifting closer to rest a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "We agreed. You go first."
"You can do it, sweetling," Margaery encouraged, her voice entirely warm and supportive. "We are right here with you."
Roslin looked between them, her face burning a deep, vibrant red. Her hands nervously twisted the sheer silk resting on her thighs. "But... what should I start with?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Margaery offered a wicked, knowing smile. She leaned close, her lips brushing right against Roslin's ear, and murmured a quiet instruction. Roslin's eyes went completely wide, darting down to Alaric's lap before she gave a small, jerky nod.
Without another word, Roslin slipped off the edge of the massive bed. Her bare knees sank into the thick layer of crushed petals on the heated marble floor as she settled herself directly between Alaric's parted legs.
Margaery didn't just sit back and watch. She shifted her weight, her delicate fingers reaching for the front of Sansa's ruined gown.
With a quick, smooth pull, she loosened the silk ties. The sheer fabric instantly slipped off Sansa's shoulders and bunched around her waist, completely exposing her bare chest to the warm air of the room.
Alaric let out a low, rough growl. The sight of Sansa's pale, flushed skin and tight, pink peaks completely shattered his restraint. He didn't wait for permission. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around the back of Sansa's neck, and pulled her chest against him.
He leaned down, his mouth immediately capturing one of her breasts. He licked a hot, wet path over the soft flesh before taking the peak firmly between his lips, pulling at it with a heavy, demanding suction that made Sansa arch her back and gasp loudly.
His free hand didn't stay idle. He reached out and grabbed Margaery by the waist, dragging her against his other side.
His calloused hand slid down the sheer, clinging silk of her gown, his fingers spreading wide to grip the heavy, smooth curve of her ass. He squeezed the soft flesh possessively, kneading it with a firm, relentless pressure.
Margaery let out a highly satisfied, vibrating hum. She leaned into his rough grip, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, and began pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the thick muscles of his neck, her teeth grazing his skin.
Down on the floor, Roslin swallowed hard. Her brown eyes were completely fixated on the massive, heavy bulge straining desperately against the dark fabric of his breeches. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she reached out, her fingers clumsy as she found the leather ties of his trousers.
She undid the knot and pulled the dark fabric down his thick thighs.