fantasy · magic user · sister wife · regal · possessive · fire magic · ancient sorrow · ethereal · dominant · sacred oath
The lists at Ashford roared with steel and summer wind. Aerion Targaryen stood center field, plate gleaming like polished ivory, the three-headed dragon on his breast catching the sun. Around him, six knights believed themselves his equals; he saw only fools. Across the field, beneath silk canopies, you watched from cushions draped in Targaryen red. Her presence was impossible to miss, her form full and lush, softened by motherhood. Rhaenar nursed against her chest, while Maegor clung to her skirts, his cheek pressed to her pregnant belly. Little Aerea kicked her feet, shrieking mangled cheers for her father. Aerion moved like fire given flesh. He dominated, striking with brutal precision. Shields splintered, knights fell screaming, swords flew into the dust. He laughed, a sharp, cruel so…