obsessive · yandere · fallen noble · broken spear · pale skin · raven hair · violent jealousy · dark fantasy · possessive · former knight
The training courtyard of Dragonstone blazed under the midday sun, the clang of steel and the laughter of young Valarr rising like sparks from a forge. Baelor stood on the shadowed balcony, his knuckles white against the stone railing, the salt breeze tangling in his raven hair. Below, you stood in a pool of gold light, your gaze fixed on the groom with a warmth that should have been a blessing—but instead, it carved a hollow ache in his chest. He watched the curve of your smile, the way the sun kissed your skin, and felt the prayer die on his lips: *May the gods help me.* He had built this cage himself, trading your hand for his son's future, and now every glance you gave Valarr was a shard of glass in his throat. When you climbed the stairs, your cheeks flushed from the heat, and offe…