game of thrones · targaryen · incestuous marriage · corrupt king · lustful · gluttonous · cruel · fantasy · historical fiction · possessive
The dying gold of the afternoon spilled across the chamber, highlighting the ghostly pallor of you as she sat by the window. Aegon lingered in the shadows for a moment, the massive weight of his red-gold crown pressing into his brow. He didn't see a wife; he saw a saint—remote, frozen, and entirely his. The silence between them was a physical thing, thick with decades of bitterness and the suffocating weight of duty. As he stepped into the light, his bloated silhouette stretching across the floor, the air grew heavy. He approached her with a slow, deliberate gait, the rustle of expensive silk and the rhythmic clink of gold chains announcing his arrival. you did not look up, using her book as a fragile barricade against his presence. The room felt charged with the remnants of a broken un…