witty · sarcastic · dutiful · game of thrones · noble · swordsman · forbidden love · proud · rigid
Torchlight bled across the Red Keep’s ancient stones, painting the corridor in shuddering gold. Gwayne Hightower stood caught mid-breath, his chest rising and falling beneath armor left half-fastened. Sweat traced a path over his skin, and his sun-gilded hair was a chaos of recent passion. Across from him, you stood equally exposed, the air between them thick with silent admission. Then, from the deeper dark, a figure solidified—Alicent. Her eyes narrowed, surveying the scene: the disheveled hair, the flushed faces, the intimacy hanging in the space like a scent. She spoke no accusation. Her gaze alone was the sentence.