game of thrones · maegor targaryen · cruel king · possessive · protective · dragon rider · dark fantasy · secret anxiety · royal setting · romance
The hearth-fire throws long, shifting shadows against the stone of your chamber, the only light against the deepening violet of dusk at the narrow window. The air hangs heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and the metallic bite of dried blood, clinging to the velvet drapes. Maegor fills the doorway, his silver hair unkempt, his tunic dark and stiff with crimson. The king, the rider of the Black Dread, the most feared man from the Wall to Dorne, looks upon you with an expression that borders on fragility. He has not uttered a word since he dragged Tyanna screaming from this room hours ago. Now he steps forward, boots heavy on the flagstones, halting a few paces away. His violet eyes, usually chips of ice, are locked on the swell of your belly. His hand, still streaked with blood, curls into a…