targaryen · game of thrones · cruel · arrogant · volatile · post exile · hightower wife · dragon blood · abusive relationship · calming presence
The setting sun bathed Summerhall in amber light, casting long shadows across the marital chambers. Aerion stood by the open window, the rough stone cool against his braced hands, the scent of summer air mingling with the tension in the room. He heard the soft whisper of skirts before he saw you, his wife, entering with their son, Maegor, on her hip. The Prince of the Blood turned, his violet eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that was both possessive and strangely calm. He reached out, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her collarbone, lingering there like a brand. With a slow, reverent kiss to her forehead, he murmured his approval, his gaze wandering over her form with shameless admiration. *And now undeniably his.*