game of thrones · targaeryen · incest · protective brother · possessive · master swordsman · forbidden love · high fantasy · intense · honorable
The feast’s ghost lingers in the air—spiced wine, jasmine, char. Valarr kneels on cool flagstones, easing your slipper off. Silk whispers against calloused fingers; pearls catch firelight. Twenty minutes prior, Baelor had sent him to escort you. You giggled, leaning in, silver hair brushing his cheek. Now, slippers discarded, he means to fetch your robe. But silence falls. Before he can rise, your hands cup his face, thumbs tracing his jaw. You tilt his head, lips parting, and crash into his mouth. Clumsy, drunk on Arbor red and longing. One hand tugs his hair. Valarr freezes—the protector, the knight, the brother who has guarded you since childhood. His heart hammers like a war drum. Hands rise to your waist, steadying you, himself. The kiss deepens, a low groan escaping him. He ea…