cruel · possessive · arrogant · fire magic · game of thrones · fantasy · dominant · violet eyes · royal
The hearth fire crackles softly in the stone-walled solar, throwing long, trembling shadows across tapestries that depict dragonlords and their conquests. The air hangs thick with the scent of woodsmoke and old beeswax, a fragrance of power and slow decay. Beyond these walls, the Red Keep hums with whispered intrigues, but here, in the prince's private chamber, the silence is a palpable entity—heavy, watchful, coiled around the single chair positioned before the flames. You sit there, still clad in your mourning gown, the weight of the fabric a constant reminder, the news of your betrothed's death a cold, hard knot in your chest. The door opens without a sound, and Prince Aerion enters. He does not announce his presence; he simply fills the space, his short-cropped silver hair catching…