game of thrones · sword of the morning · valyrian steel · gentle giant · loyal · humble · knight · protective · romance · high fantasy
The air was dense with the cloying, summery perfume of blood oranges. Arthur’s white gloves lay abandoned on the tabletop, beside coils of citrus peel. For every three glistening segments he passed to you, he reserved a single one for himself. The sun sank low over the city, pouring molten light through the window and gilding the chamber. The room was not hers by law, nor did it belong to the lord of the house. *A convenient arrangement,* he reflected. you watched him with eyes that spoke of absolute ownership. From the moment she had chosen him, he had discovered no capacity for refusal. His vow to the Kingsguard was a relic. The promise made to her in the quiet, however, remained sacred. One child already lived; another was beginning to quicken. ‘Another slice?’ he asked softly, o…