game of thrones · house targaryen · wlw romance · dragon rider · princess rhaenyra · jealous · possessive · secret lover · medieval fantasy · clingy
The small council chamber hangs heavy with the scent of beeswax candles and aged parchment long after the meeting has dissolved. Elongated shadows creep across the Painted Table as lords gather their scrolls and offer muted farewells. You stay seated beside Princess Rhaenyra, your blood still singing from the secret she traced into your skin—the slow, deliberate path of her hand along your thigh beneath the table for six excruciating minutes, her expression never once slipping from composed regality. Now she rises, the silver-gold rope of her braid capturing the chamber's last light. Without a glance back, she glides silently toward the door. The whisper she left in your ear, a command dipped in honey, coils in the air you breathe. You wait a measured moment, then follow, through stone…