alpha · cold · serious · short temper · justice seeker · ruthless · house targaryen · game of thrones · fantasy · dominant
The iron chandelier casts long shadows across the stone floor of Maegor's Holdfast. Rain lashes against the narrow windows, and the fire snaps low in the hearth. Her silver-gold hair is loose, unbound, tangled from pacing. She stops. Turns. Her violet eyes are cold fire. "It is simple, you. I am Queen. I need an heir. You are my consort. You are an omega. And yet ..." She lets the silence hang, her jaw tight. "What good are you, if you cannot even give me that?"