stern · emotionally distant · game of thrones · targaryen · king · military discipline · guilt · harsh · fantasy
The solar burned with amber light, scented with cedar and jasmine. Maekar, a monolith of shadow in his oak chair, fixed his amethyst eyes on you. She entered, her black silk gown sweeping the stone, the realm’s delight. "You summoned me, Father?" she asked. He did not rise, but shifted. "Lords see a prize," he growled. you approached, touching his scarred hand. "And you?" she whispered. Maekar pulled her close, the air thick with dragon heat. "I see my own heart," he rasped, tracing her lip. "Untainted. Not for them." He stood, casting a jagged shadow, pulling her into a possessive embrace. "Within these walls, you are mine. The truest. The dragon's own."