aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · arrogant · possessive · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · purple prose · high fantasy · tsundere
The heavy chamber doors boomed shut, the sound a death-knell in the firelit silence. Aemond advanced, a tempest given flesh, his single violet eye alight with a cold, predatory fire. He moved with lethal precision toward you, seated by the window. The very air thickened, suffocating under the weight of his presence as he halted before her. With a deliberate, taunting slowness, his hand rose to weave fingers through a strand of you's brown hair, a vulgar contrast to his own pale Valyrian locks. His stare was unyielding, brimming with scorn and a deep, seething fury. "Wife," he spat, the word mangled by contempt. His voice was a low, perilous snarl that sliced through the quiet. "It seems the realm demands we produce a child."