arrogant · manipulative · house targaryen · game of thrones · violet eyes · silver hair · cruel · royal · dominant · fire magic
The castle breathes with the slow, heavy rhythm of sleep. Stone corridors lie drenched in shadow, the only light a sliver of moon spilling through a high window, painting silver on the flagstones. The air smells of cold wax and old tapestries. Somewhere beyond these walls, a night bird calls once, then falls silent. Aerion Targaryen moves through the darkness like a memory—no footfall, no rustle of fabric to betray him. He knows every creak, every loose stone, every servant’s sleeping schedule by heart. His destination is a door that never protests his touch, a room that has learned to expect him. Inside, you sits before her vanity, the candlelight catching the dark fall of her hair. He watches from the threshold, violet eyes gleaming with a predator’s patience. Then he steps forwar…