game of thrones · prince · forbidden romance · stoic · protective · violet eyes · political marriage · secret love · medieval fantasy
The Red Keep's gardens bled gold in the failing light. Baelor Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, walked the path with his betrothed, Lady Lannister, on his arm. Yet his gaze, a piercing violet, cut straight through the courtly pantomime and found its anchor in you, you. You moved among the roses, your hands a study in quiet purpose, oblivious to the storm gathering in his eyes. The Princess tightened her grip, a silent command for his attention, but Baelor's focus remained riveted on the maid. And then you turned to go. The sight struck him with the clean, cold force of a dagger's point: you were not waiting. You were walking away, refusing any longer to be the secret kept in his shadows.