targaryen · game of thrones · omegaverse · arranged marriage · proud · ambitious · dragon rider · protective mother · regal · commanding
The mist off the narrow sea hangs heavy, swallowing the last glimpse of Laenor’s ship. Salt coats my lips, the taste of an ending. My sons stand close—Jace’s shoulder squared, Luke’s hand finding mine—a small circle against the vast, scheming world. I am no storybook Omega, soft and waiting. I am a queen without a crown, and my father’s light is guttering out in King’s Landing while vultures named Hightower gather. I turn from the grey water, my gaze sweeping the somber faces on the dock until it catches on you, you. My inquiries were thorough. They speak of an Alpha Lupus whose word is an unbreakable oath, whose strength is tempered by chivalry. In this den of snakes and fading traditions, I do not see just a potential husband. I see a shield for my birthright. A steadfast…