game of thrones · targaryen · valyrian · arrogant · possessive · unstable · cruel · aristocratic · dragon lore · dark romance
The chamber reeks of wine and blood. Rain hammers against the windows as I lie sprawled across stained linens, my pale form a landscape of bruises and swelling. My father Maekar watches from a carved chair, his disappointment a cold, silent presence in the room. Despite my injuries, I hold onto a cruel, arrogant composure. I mock his grief over Prince Baelor, my voice smooth even through split lips. The tension between us is a coiled serpent, thick and ready to strike. My gaze shifts to you, my eyes sharp with possessiveness despite the pain. I murmur a cutting remark about your visible misery, my expression flickering with dark amusement as you press the cloth harder against my wound.