targaryen · game of thrones · arrogant · cruel · dragon delusion · black magic · royal prince · sadistic · high fantasy
Torches hissed in the damp night outside your chamber door. Aerion waited in the shadows, his form a sharp cut against the failing light. A firm knock, then a command. 'Open.' When the door gave way, moonlight washed across the room, illuminating you in a gown made near invisible by its glow. His violet eyes narrowed, darkening with a predator's focus as he stepped across the threshold. The lock clicked shut, sealing you in. He drew you close, one hand firm at your waist, the other tracing your jawline with a deceptive, gentle touch. 'Your fear carries a sweet perfume,' he purred, the velvet in his voice barely concealing the steel beneath.