The usually tempered King Viserys’ emotions had bubbled to a boil, perhaps not entirely toward the man he claimed to have provoked him so, but he was certainly responsible for a large portion of the king’s distress. “What is this about? Don’t you ever grow tired to having me dragged in here to see you like this, brother?” Prince Daemon questioned with his usual arrogance, the kind that lived in the smirk seemingly always on his pale face. “You will address me as ‘your grace’!” King Viserys fired back, telling his younger brother that he was serious although Daemon merely stopped talking. His confidence still filled the room like the strongest aromatics, waiting on his brother to voice what’d vexed him this time.

“Do you think me a fool, Daemon?” “…no, your grace” Daemon answered after a momentary pause before adding the ‘your grace’ in a way like they both knew he was just appeasing him. “Do you think I wouldn’t see you with my daughter last night? The way you grabbed her, the intensity between the two of you was stronger than my wine!” King Viserys reprimanded. “Whatever you believe to exist between Rhaenyra and I, I suggest you ask her” Daemon dismissed. “No! I am your king - you will answer me!” “…perhaps it would be wise to take a rest, bro-, your grace…your thoughts seem to be too unruly to make sense of” Daemon proposed, skirting the accusation just as skillfully as he swung his sword.

“You will not defy me, Daemon! My eyes did not deceive me like you desire to! You wouldn’t even deny your indiscretion with Rhaenyra the first time I brought it to you, when you were dragged before me, too poisoned by your own indulgence the night prior to stand!” King Viserys lashed but Daemon wasn’t capable of shame and unwilling to bend before his brother like every one else in the realm. “…your grace, I’m concerned that whatever is troubling you may be a deeper matter, perhaps some illness setting in” Daemon suggested without answering a single one of Viserys’ questions, instead dancing around the truth the way he did whenever he knew it was already out there, just refusing to acknowledge it. The pair of royal brothers had done this dance too many times too count and king Viserys’ mercy always got between his wrath and his brother but the damn may finally have broken.

“If you wish to abstain from the truth, I will see to it that your tongue has no choice but to surrender to it” “Are you going to cut out my tongue, dear brother?” Daemon questioned like it was more of a challenge, still as talented as ever at pushing his buttons. “No, Daemon. You will keep your tongue, but the next time you use it in my presence, it will have been tamed into obedience. I’m sentencing you to be cursed with laughter” King Viserys explained and Daemon’s chiseled face showed it knew what fear was, or at least genuine concern. “…laughter? The Curse of Laughter?? Have you actually gone mad??” Daemon questioned with a scoffing laugh before the knights attempted to grab his arms. “Unhand me! This is preposterous! If you think sentencing me to some antiquated, silly torture will do anything more than annoy me, you’re sorely mistaken, brother!” Daemon assured as he was escorted out of the room, obviously more agitated now. “We shall see, Daemon…we shall see.”  

In the dungeon, the mouthy Targaryen nearly bested the knights tasked with subduing him, his combat prowess nothing short of formidable. But, after enough muscling, Daemon was left totally defenseless. Every stich of his clothing sat wrinkled on the floor along with his boots. He rested on his knees and shins on a wide, heavy bench, his legs tied to it fairly far apart at the ankles and knees and his hands had been bound above his head, strung up by the wrists. “If you wanted to see a prince’s cock, all one had to do was ask” Daemon added as the men that’d bound him left. “Prince Daemon…I don’t think we have been formally introduced” a new man greeted as he entered the dungeon.

“Who are you supposed to be? The dungeon master?” Daemon mocked, judging the warm-faced man as too harmless to cause him any real trouble. “To be fair, this role doesn’t require consistent assignment. I am sought out by the castle whenever I am needed, which has been years now. Though, I never suspected my services would be required for a prince” “This ‘role’? The Curse of Laughter is a joke…everyone in the realm knows that” Daemon asserted in attempt to undermine his sentencing, making the man in front of him chuckle a bit. “The Curse of Laughter is unorthodox, yes. However, in the right circumstances, it can be highly effective” Zenos explained before walking around to stand behind the prince as another cocky smirk arose on Daemon’s face.

What the prince couldn’t see were the two semiplume feathers Zenos was now holding, armed with one in each hand as he reached out and let them dance along Daemon’s bare sides. “AAhohGh!” Daemon laughed quickly before clenching his jaw and tightening his back to stand up straighter, as if being more solid would help but the feathers weren’t intimidated. Daemon’s tight ass shook a little as his posture of defense lost its composure every few seconds, unable to withstand the delicate abundance of the feathers traveling up and down him, grazing from his hips to the base of his armpits over and over as his resolve seemed to wear with each stroke.

The large feathers were limp and wispy but significant enough to be substantial in this particular use, excellent at practically floating through the air teasing Daemon’s creamy skin as more and more reluctant giggles escaped the hold of his ego. “YOou’RE WahAsSTTinG youRRTtiIMEEHA!” Daemon shouted while trying to keep control over his laughter but Zenos didn’t respond, instead letting the feathers do the talking. One thread of the feather acting alone was nothing but the hundreds of them working together was enough to get the mighty Daemon Targaryen struggling to maintain his tough composure. His naked toes curled and flexed with growing frustration and his fists surged against the rope in hopes of breaking free but he couldn’t make a move, locked in place with no way to protect himself from the dastardly feathers swishing up and down his body to no end.

Soon the feathering grew faster, in response to Daemon’s low laughter bubbling out more, the prince being slowly worn down by the ‘silly’ punishment. “EeNNouuGGhAAhA! DoOYYoU heAARmMmEEaEH?” Daemon barked but his impenetrable exterior was waning the longer Zenos tickled him, patiently coaxing out more and more laughter as Daemon failed to resist the feathers and his own weakness. “SSsTtOOppThhiISS! II’LLhAaahAVEe yoUuRRhAHhEAAD!” Daemon threatened with warm, resistant laughter spilling out louder than he could muffle. He grunted with anger and tried to pull himself up to get away but the bench he was tied to was far too heavy, leaving him prisoner to Zenos’ unrelenting feathers still gliding up and down his warrior physique until the army of wispy threads jumped do his bottom. “AhAhA! NnOO!” Daemon nearly yelped with surprise and tried to jerk himself away but again found no sanctuary.

“GgEeEETToOOoFFmMYYyAAASSS!!” Daemon raged with a newfound discomfort and wider smile across his face as the feathers flicked in every direction across his pale cheeks. “You would be surprised, my prince, to know the places on the body no one ever thought to be ticklish” Zenos added as if to point out that Daemon, the master swordsman and renowned fighter with a sharp tongue, had no power now. He was at Zenos’ mercy. No number of men he’d slain, battles he’d won, or women he’d claimed mattered now.

The feathers teasing his milky cheeks were enough to plague Daemon with a constant fit of laughter, his mouth and lungs at Zenos’ command as he wielded the pair of feathers like Daemon wielded a sword. He knew exactly what he was doing.  “PPiIiSSsSoOOOoHAohAOFFF!! NnOOoOWW!!” “I have orders, Prince Daemon. I’ve never been known to disobey them before and I do not plan on beginning to today” Zenos explained as he suddenly stopped and took hold of Daemon’s hip with one hand before putting both feathers together in the other hand and sliding them between the unsuspecting cheeks just fast enough to really wind him up. “AAhAHAH!! Are you mad?!” Daemon shouted with wild-eyed disbelief after the embarrassing release he’d just let out but Zenos just did it again, threading the countless threads of the feathers between the royal ass until Daemon was shrieking into the dungeon with humiliating laughter.

“FFuUuHUHUCCK!” roared out of Daemon like one of his dragons and he clenched his butt the moment the feathers finished but Zenos suddenly shot into his armpit with his available hand, hitting Daemon like a bolt of lightning. “AAhAohANNOO! NNoOOOHAOA!!” he protested as he shook in place, distracted enough to loosen his ass and Zenos moved swiftly, pulling the feathers between his cheeks and threading them upwards again while his other hand continued digging around in the hairy underarm, the combination bringing Daemon to new heights of laughter. “AAhGghHAhAHAHASSHIIIITT!!” echoed throughout the dungeon like a long roll of thunder, echoes of a troublemaker prince tormented by a few fingers and a pair of simple feathers.

After overwhelming his ass a few more times with the large feathers, Zenos moved backwards, granting Daemon a moment of normal breathing and clear thinking before he was jolted back to life. “AAGGhAhoAOHAHFFUUUCKK!! IILLLLKKIIILLLyYOOUuUAOhAOHAFFOOoRRTTHHIIISSS!!” a howling Daemon warned as his handsome bare feet felt the full fury of 10 skilled fingers scurrying away on his smooth soles. “You are not the first man to make such threats” Zenos assured as he focused on the middles of both vertical feet, at the perfect angle to really wreak havoc on. Daemon’s long, plump toes wiggled and spayed out and the rest of his powerhouse body thrashed against its bondage as hard as it could but Zenos knew he was in no danger. Men larger and stronger than him hadn’t escaped; the prince, however angry, however emasculated, wouldn’t elude his sentencing.

“A strong man with ticklish feet…more precious than gold” Zenos teased as his focused fingers scratched up and down the long stretch of the high arches and reduced the fierce combatant to a version of himself no one had ever seen. “SSTToOOPPPPTTHHiIISS!! NnOOOOWW! AHoAAIIICCoOmMmAAnNNDDyYOOUUU!!” “My apologies, my prince. The king’s orders outrank yours” Zenos was happy to answer as he clawed away at the supple soles like he may never stop, like he may keep Daemon his tickle slave forever in the dungeon. “AAAHGGHHAHA!! NOOO!!” Daemon raged with a growling resurgence of fire as if he could push through the tickling and assert his royal and physical authority over the situation.

“Do you submit to me, Prince Daemon?” Zenos asked, a question that in any other circumstance would’ve left him with a few less teeth, on a good day. “AAOhAOIIIISSuUuBBMmiIiTTT TTTOONNoOoOOOOONNEEE!!” Daemon refused, as anticipated. “Remember that I gave you the opportunity to end your suffering now. You will wish to be given the same chance very soon” Zenos warned with menacing ambiguity before he rang a handbell and three other men joined them in the dungeon. “NNOoAOHA!! DDoOOnNTTTTOOUucChHHMMEEAEAAHA!!” “Oh, they will do more than touch you” Zenos assured as the new additions surrounded Daemon’s weaponized body and each targeted a different spot before pouncing on him faster than the blonde brute could prepare himself.

“AAHAoaAOHAOHAGGHAOhAOHAANNOOOO!!!!” Daemon exploded with the most intense laughter Zenos had heard in a long time. One of the men stood on a stool in front of him drilling into his lean armpits with supreme accuracy to every prod and poke he delivered. The second man stood beneath him unleashing on Daemon’s stomach, daggering in with tight fingers all over the sculpted abs and even squeezing into his hips every few seconds just to throw a surprise his way. The third man sat knelt at the prince’s powerful feet, the same ones that’d stormed battlefields yet now helpless and bare for the conquering. With two feather quills, the man gave the pink soles his full attention as he dragged the stiff tips of the quills across both feet, tickling far worse than Daemon could’ve ever dreamed, fresh hell with each stroke that made his laugh lose all masculinity and his cock jump with sensory confusion.

Zenos, meanwhile, took his favorite spot, the one he’d fallen in love with years earlier. Lying across the bench, between Daemon’s spread legs, the seasoned tickler used a single duck feather on the prince’s exposed taint. The simple swirling of the feather along the bit of skin between his bum and balls was nothing short of monstrous, like the kind of moves Daemon would employ in battle he knew were underhanded or cruel but usually helped win the day. The prince’s balls tightened and his legs strained to close while his nipples became solid points on his chest, suddenly at the feather’s behest, the tickling that broke through the rest of it to prove the most unbearable. “SSTToOhOOOOPPP!!! AohAOhAOHASSTToOOPPPTTIIiCCkKLLIINNGGmMMEEE!! TTHhAHATTTSSAHAHANNNOOOoRRDDEERRR!!” Daemon demanded like he didn’t know what else to say, praying his station would serve him and spare him from the ticklish insanity but no man in the dungeon headed his outburst. Their fingers never slowed down and their feather and quills never left his defiant body.

Two hours later, the dungeon walls were no longer vibrating with the forced laughter barreling out of Prince Daemon. The three additional ticklers had abandoned their respective posts and left only Zenos with Daemon. The bringer of The Curse of Laughter stood between the prince’s ankles with one hand still feathering his wildly ticklish taint and his other dominating the left row of lush toes with unrelenting scratches. The smug, over-confident brother of the king now sat as close to defeat as he’d ever tasted. His loud, hardy laughter had become tired, whimpering giggles, that of a man who couldn’t help but still react to the endless tickling he’d been cursed to endure. His eyes were watery from forced tears and the cheeks on his face and his stomach were sore from the unending laughter he’d had no choice but to produce.

Zenos recognized the sound of a man with too much pride to ever actually submit to him even though they both knew he’d been broken. Even though the king had sentenced Daemon to The Curse of Laughter and a vocal submission of defeat was a requirement to end the tickling, the king likely knew his brother would rather lose his mind in the dungeon than surrender. Zenos knew this outcome was unlikely as well but took his time enjoying the surreal situation he’d found himself in, planning to keep Daemon whining and laughing for at least another hour, or until Zenos grew tired. “If what they say is true and Targaryens are closer to gods than man…perhaps they are more ticklish than man as well.”