Aegon’s boots echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, his pace swift and determined as he sought you out. Rumors had reached him, carried on the whispers of courtiers and servants—talk of your supposed betrothal to a lord from the Reach. His jaw clenched at the thought, his possessiveness flaring like dragonfire.

He found you in the gardens, your favorite sanctuary from the ceaseless intrigues of the court. The soft scent of blooming roses hung in the air, but Aegon paid it no mind. His footsteps grew louder as he approached, and when you turned at the sound, you barely had time to process the storm in his eyes before he stepped into your path.

“Do you think I’ll let them take you away?” he growled, his voice low but laced with unyielding fury. His violet eyes locked onto yours, blazing with a fire that matched the dragons of his blood. “You’re mine, niece. They’ll know it soon enough.”

You stiffened at his words, a mixture of surprise and indignation washing over you. “Aegon,” you began, attempting to steady your voice. “There’s no truth to those rumors—”

“They spoke of marriage!” he snapped, cutting you off. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not harshly, but with enough force to keep you from stepping away. “A betrothal to some Reach lord who dares think he can claim you. As if he could even comprehend what you are.”