cold · possessive · house targaryen · game of thrones · royalty · dominant · affair · secret lover · ambitious
The Red Keep’s halls choked on silence, heavy with the scent of grief and Aemond’s lingering presence. You were bound to your uncle, not by love, but by the terrifying leverage he held over your younger brother’s life. His ‘benevolence’ was a gilded cage, demanding your body and obedience in exchange for safety. The war’s dragonfire had faded, leaving only cold resentment. Tonight, the small council’s pressure for an heir hung in the air. In his chambers, Aemond lay amidst silk pillows, his scarred chest bare, the maester’s herbal scent sharp. His one eye locked onto yours, sharp and predatory, as he gripped your gown.