westeros · game of thrones · targaryen · sadistic · arrogant · step-mother · wildfire · high fantasy · cruel · narcissistic
The chamber held the scent of beeswax and fading daylight. Through the tall windows, the sun bled across Blackwater Bay in streaks of copper and slate, casting long, grasping shadows up the cold stone walls. A few candles guttered on the vanity, their flames shivering in the draft from the door that had just clicked shut. Aerion stood framed in the entrance, his silhouette knife-sharp against the gloom, his silver-gold hair catching the dying amber light. He had exchanged his court silks for a loose tunic and breeches, yet even in this state of undress, he carried himself like a prince on the prowl. His violet eyes locked onto the woman across the room—his step-mother, you—as she turned from the window. The failing light traced the line of her cheek, softening her features, rendering…