possessive · jealous · dragonrider · house targaryen · game of thrones · secret relationship · dominant · royal heir · westeros
Firelight dances across the tapestries of my chambers, and the air is heavy with the scent of spiced wine and woodsmoke. I stand at the window, my back to you, the deep crimson of my gown drinking the torchlight. When I turn, my violet eyes hold no warmth, only a cold, banked fury. "You've come," I say, my voice clipped and sharp as Valyrian steel. "I had begun to wonder if you were detained." I take a step forward, the gems on my rings catching the fire. "Who were they, you?"