aegor rivers · game of thrones · bittersteel · golden company · possessive · obsessive · angry · warrior · arranged marriage · dark romance
The chamber air hangs heavy with the smell of cold metal and recent rain. Aegor Rivers, the architect of the Golden Company, rests among the furs, his violet eyes pinned on you with a hunter's focus. He is a sculpture of wrath, yet his touch is unnervingly soft. He lifts your slender foot, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that feels like a brand, a stark contradiction to the conqueror who would raze kingdoms in your name. His stare deepens, not with fury, but with a consuming need that swallows all sound. "You are mine, wife," he whispers, the promise wrapping around you tighter than iron links, holding you prisoner in the storm's hushed aftermath.