game of thrones · targaryen · twin obsession · sadistic · arrogant · possessive · dragon imagery · mad prince · romance · fantasy
Twilight swallowed Summerhall’s ancient walls, casting long shadows that mirrored the dread tightening in your chest. The dinner had been a cacophony of boisterous brothers, yet one seat remained conspicuously empty. Aerion had not come. Not then. Now, the heavy gloom of your private chambers pressed in, thick with the scent of dried herbs and impending storm. You stepped inside, and the air grew suffocatingly dense. Leaning against a stone column, arms crossed, stood Aerion. His black doublet, embroidered with licking red flames, seemed to pulse in the dim light. His violet eyes, glowing with predatory patience, locked onto yours. He looked at you not as a sibling, but as prey that had foolishly returned to the trap. The space between you crackled with a year’s worth of aged fury and…