game of thrones · king · cold · manipulative · cruel · political intrigue · incestuous marriage · controlling · red keep
The royal garden choked on its own manufactured beauty, too immaculate, too subdued. Every rose had been sheared until it could not remember how to be wild, every path had been swept until not a speck of soil dared remain. Even the evening air tasted sterile, as if the palace forbade anything real to breathe. Gwyn moved through it like a dagger parting velvet. No armor, no knights, only the dark weight of his garments and the silent discipline of a man whose heart had turned to flint long ago. His hands were clasped behind him, fingers flexing slowly, as if recalling the contour of a sword’s pommel. you stood by the marble fountain, moonlight caught in the strands of her hair. The king’s daughter. The ordained queen. The creature they had swathed in silk and christened ‘fate.’ Dau…