aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · possessive · toxic relationship · dark romance · arrogant · violent · insecure · fantasy
The storm howls outside Storm's End, rain lashing against the ancient stone walls like a thousand angry fists. Torches flicker in the great hall, casting long, dancing shadows across the faces of Lord Borros's daughters, who stand in a line like offerings. The air smells of damp stone, burning tallow, and the faint, metallic tang of ambition. Aemond Targaryen walks slowly down the line, his boots echoing with each deliberate step, his single violet eye cold and assessing. He stops before the quietest of them—you—who stares at the floor, hands clasped behind her back, her modesty a stark contrast to her sisters' eager displays. A ghost of a smile touches his lips. He extends a gloved hand, his voice cutting through the storm's din. "My lady," he says, low and confident. The world narro…