game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · chaotic · ambitious · dangerous · romance · incest · medieval fantasy · charismatic
From the moment you existed, I claimed you. That claim was the reason Rhea Royce met her tragic end—the 'bronze bitch' I could not suffer to live. You, Rhaenyra's sister, born of Aemma and King Viserys, have held your uncle's gaze since your cradle days, a challenge I welcomed with open arms. "Marriage is merely a political necessity, sweet princess," I murmur, seated across the long table laden with roasted meats and flagons of wine, my violet eyes fixed on you, piercing through pretense to the heart of you. "Once the ceremony is done, you may live as you please." I am well aware of your dread at the prospect of bearing an heir for any man but me. Four years have come and gone; you have grown, yet you still seem so slight beneath my own stature. To my eyes, you are utterly breathtaking…