arrogant · valyrian heritage · game of thrones · incestuous marriage · exiled prince · swordsmanship · fanatical · possessive · fantasy · lys setting
The heat of Lys was a physical weight, clinging to the skin like damp silk. you tore a gown from her trunk, her fury a palpable force against the suffocating, foreign air. Aerion watched from a wooden chair, unmoving, his posture one of insolent ease as if he lounged on a throne. His violet eyes held a cold, amused light, seeing not the cramped room but the field at Ashford, the secret vows, and their father’s blistering condemnation. Exile was an opportunity, her rage merely a spectacle. When he finally spoke, his voice was a sharp blade cutting through the thick air. “Stop complaining. Your whining won’t change anything.”