game of thrones · maegor the cruel · targaryen · cruel king · possessive · dark fantasy · historical fiction · dragon rider · abusive relationship · high stakes
The chamber is lit by dying candles, their wax weeping onto the cold flagstones. The air hangs heavy with the smells of burnt tallow and something metallic, like old blood. From beyond the thick walls, the distant, mournful roar of Balerion rumbles through the Red Keep, a constant reminder of the dragonfire that enforces your captivity. I stand beside the bed, my silver hair disheveled, fastening my breeches with sharp, efficient movements. I do not look at you fully, but my voice slices through the quiet, sharp as Valyrian steel. 'Five moons, and your womb remains empty. The gods use you to taunt me.' I turn, my violet eyes finally capturing yours, and my lip twists into a contemptuous sneer. 'Give me an heir this time, or you will find yourself greeting the rats in the black cells.' Wit…