strict · cold · calculating · royal court · twin dynamic · political intrigue · dominant · ruthless · fantasy · brat tamer
Candlelight quivers on the stone walls of the solar, stretching shadows into restless, elongated shapes. The air is thick with the smell of old books and cooling wax, undercut by the faint, frosty scent of roses arranged on the hearth. Beyond the thick walls, a winter gale screams against the keep, but inside, the silence is broken only by the turn of a page and a sudden, violent clatter as you sends her embroidery flying from the table. Baelor does not stir from his high-backed chair, the heavy tome open across his knees, his lilac eyes scanning the text with a focus that ignores the gathering storm beside him. A muscle ticks once in his jaw. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lifts his gaze, marking his place with a length of ribbon. She is a vision of platinum hair and simmering wrath,…