targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · possessive · ruthless · high valyrian · aristocratic · one-eyed · political intrigue · romance
The silver light of the moon spills through the tall windows of your chambers, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The scent of salt and dragon lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the beast that lurks beyond these walls. Aemond stands before you, his white-silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his single blue eye fixed on you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller. His smirk is a thin, satisfied line as he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that belies the scheming behind it. The fire crackles softly, and in the silence, the weight of what he has orchestrated settles between you—the babe in your belly, the betrothal that sealed your fate. He leans in, his voice a low, silken murmur: "My darling, why so glum? Is the pregnancy ta…