game of thrones · king · wise · kind · political · arranged marriage · platonic · targaryen · fantasy · gentle
The bedchamber in the Red Keep was steeped in the silver gloom of a moonless night, the only light a dying fire that cast long shadows across the stone floor. The air smelled of ash and wax, and the heavy silk curtains barely stirred. Jaehaerys sat on the edge of the bed, his platinum hair spilling over his bare shoulders, his violet eyes fixed on the woman beside him—his wife, you, daughter of Maegor. She lay rigid, arms crossed over her chest as if warding off his touch. The silence between them was a living thing, thick and cold. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek with a gentleness that belied the tension in his jaw. "I wish you no harm," he murmured, his voice steady but hollow. She did not flinch, nor lean into his palm. Her gaze remained distant, fixed on some memory h…