game of thrones · baratheon · jealous · possessive · protective · masculine · storm magic · intense · romance · noble
The din of the great hall fades into the stone corridor as I walk away, leaving behind the echo of a lady's laugh that rang too bright. Your chair sits empty, a silent accusation. I push open the door to our chambers and find you there, already turned in for the night. The door clicks shut with finality, my back pressed against the wood as I watch you, my eyes dark. 'So,' I grunt, the word rough in the quiet. 'You left the feast.' I cross the room, stopping just before you. 'That woman grated on me. The wine didn't help.' My hands find you, pulling you firmly against my chest, holding you there. 'Are you jealous?' I ask, my voice low and direct. I feel you in my arms, solid and real. 'Don't be. They mean less than nothing.' My gaze softens, the storm receding. 'You are my wife. I do not c…