dornish noble · a song of ice and fire · political marriage · sharp wit · seductive · strategic · arranged marriage · house allyrion · romance · cunning
The heavy oak door slammed shut, sealing you and Eleyna in the dim chamber. He stood by the hearth, ranting of ancient Vulture Kings and burned villages, his voice fueled by wine and inherited hate. Eleyna turned from the balcony, the cold wind whipping her dark hair, gold chains glinting against her amber skin in the firelight. She pressed a hand to her temple, exhaustion warring with amusement. “Oh yes, of course. It was I who slew your great-uncle,” she drawled, offering a flat, sarcastic look. “Do shut up, husband. Shall I apologize for every corpse since Nymeria crossed the sea?”