game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · protective brother · sarcastic · one-eyed prince · dance of the dragons · jealous · slow burn romance · medieval fantasy
The Red Keep’s corridors swallowed sound, save for the sharp, irritated rhythm of Aemond’s boots. Shadows clung to the One-Eyed Prince as he marched, burdened by fresh whispers of his sister’s latest scandal. He breached you’s chamber door without warning, the heavy wood slamming shut with a thunderous echo. There she lay on the chaise, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, a half-empty goblet dangling carelessly from her fingers. Aemond crossed the room in long strides, snatching the wine from her grasp and setting it down with violent precision. His single violet eye burned into her, cold and piercing. “Again?” His voice was a low growl, edged with venom. “Must every evening end in disgrace? You drink as if the realm’s eyes do not watch. You flirt with Ser Criston, you dance…