Bewitched {Being Rewritten}

Chapter One

Shame and guilt moved through the world hand in hand, entangled in one another so tightly that most could not tell the two apart. So entwined with morality they weighed you down, causing your shoulders to drop and your knees to buckle, a pit to form in your stomach, and a sharp stabbing pain in your chest. But shame is not guilt. Shame whispers that you are bad, while guilt tells you you did something bad. Guilt cries that you made a mistake, while shame argues that you are the mistake. Both were meant to harm and yet Darla had never faced any discomfort in the face of those emotions, if she ever truly felt them at all.

Hot bursts of air hit the side of her neck, causing strands of inky black to stir as the King pressed his face further into the space between her shoulder and jaw. His body blanketed hers, pushing her further into the sheets. His figure was overwhelming, attempting to cover and claim every inch of her.

Darla stared straight ahead as she waited for the moment to pass, annoyance swam under her skin threatening to rise to the surface. She stamped it down as Vierys stilled with a loud grunt, forcing her facial muscles to relax into the satisfied look she had perfected since the first time the King had taken her to his bed.

An arm snaked around her waist as the King rolled off of her, crashing onto the mattress and pulling Darla into his chest. His hand swept over her shoulder, moving the black strands so he could press a final kiss to her jawline.

"I hope it takes," Viserys murmured as Darla rolled over to face him, his eyes lighting up as he gazed upon her beauty. "You would be enchanting swollen with my child."

Darla forced a soft smile to her lips, moving the hand not under her to frame the side of his face. She slowly guided Viserys's face closer to hers, allowing her lips to brush against his as she spoke. "I would give you an army of children if that is what your heart desires, my King."

She could feel her stomach turn at the false words the King eagerly drank in. He was just like the men she had watched while growing up on the Street of Silk, no different from the men that sought out love between a whore's legs. The blood of Old Valyria could not save him from the temptation, no more than the crown could save his throat from the blade.

"The Small Council shall be meeting soon, Your Grace." Darla whispered, pulling back slightly so she could look into his eyes. The pad of her thumb began to burn as she stroked over his cheek, the hair of his beard irritating her skin.

He groaned, turning into her touch. His hand grasped her wrist, holding her there as he pressed a kiss to the heel of her hand. "Right as always, Darla."

"Allow me to dress you?"

Viserys nodded, slowly releasing his hold on Darla. His eyes remained locked on her as she slipped from between the sheets. He sighed as Darla slipped her chemise over her head and her bare skin was hidden from his greedy gaze.