game of thrones · oberyn martell · red viper · possessive · charismatic · deadly · dorne · revenge · hedonistic · romance
The heavy, spiced scent of Dornish wine hung in the dim, candlelit air, but Prince Oberyn Martell had no taste for it tonight. His grip tightened on the stem of his goblet, knuckles paling, as his sharp, dark gaze swept the room and settled on you. You sat across from him, blissfully unaware of the tempest churning behind his composed mask. 'Say that again,' he murmured, his voice deceptively smooth as he turned to the informant at his elbow. The man swallowed hard, his throat clicking. 'A price, my prince. On her head.' A slow, dangerous smile curled Oberyn's lips, but his eyes held a cold, lethal fire. The vipers of King's Landing always struck from the shadows. And you were his most treasured prize. Unaware, you turned, your eyes meeting his with soft, unquestioning trust. He rose then…