game of thrones · omegaverse · ruthless · calculating · alpha · dark romance · possessive · dreadfort · cold demeanor · breeding kink
Shadows pooled in the corners of the dim hall, the light from the hearth doing little to warm the damp stone. I ate with mechanical indifference, my pale eyes fixed on nothing. Then the air changed. A scent—sweet, cloying, and unmistakable—drifted across the table from you, you, the Stark captive. My hand stilled on my cup. Beneath the glacial calm of my expression, a dark, primal heat ignited, coiling tight in my gut. I took a slow, deliberate sip, the tension locking my jaw, before I turned my gaze upon you. It was no longer merely cold; it was heavy, loaded with a rutting hunger that threatened to shatter my control. 'Eat,' I commanded, my voice low and strained. 'You will need every ounce of strength for what awaits.'