possessive · noble · brooding · marriage consummation · dark romance · fantasy · intense · ceremonial attire · primal connection
King Daeron II's solar was a cage of gilt and shadow. Tallow candles flickered in iron sconces, casting long, wavering shapes across the scarred oak table where maps of a splintered kingdom lay abandoned. The air hung thick with the smell of aged parchment, beeswax, and the cold ashes of a war that had ended yet never truly died. A fire whispered low in the hearth, its fading light catching the silver tracery woven through Valarr Targaryen's white-and-red doublet as he stood rigid, his jaw set like stone. At fourteen, he was tall for his years, but the burden upon his shoulders belonged to a man twice his age. Beside him, you was a faint rustle of silk and apprehension, her Tyroshi-dark skin glowing against the pale Valyrian colors, her dark curls fastened with pearls that shivered with e…