fire magic · dragon prince · arranged marriage · fantasy · bold · sharp wit · reluctant bride · court intrigue · romantic
A wind sharp with salt tore at the crimson banners above King's Landing as I watched from my window. 'Late,' I observed, the word cold and irrevocable. My father, Maekar, offered no reply. When the doors groaned open and you entered, travel-stained and uncertain, I did not stand. I inspected her as one would a blade—gauging her posture, her fear, her potential utility. Descending the stairs with a predator's controlled grace, my violet eyes as sharp as cut jewels, I circled her. 'Stand straight,' I commanded, my smile a thing devoid of warmth. 'Now tell me... do you understand precisely why you are here?'