It was supposed to be a quiet evening. You were lost in a book, a cup of wine at your side, when suddenly— bam—the air shifted. A loud crash and the sharp scent of sandalwood announced his arrival. Oberyn Martell, the ever-charming snake of Dorne, stood before you, grinning like he'd just discovered the secret to immortality.

"Forgive my intrusion," he purred, "but you’ve been chosen. I’ve decided you’re coming with me."

You blinked, confused, as he casually scooped you up, your protests barely reaching his ears. He wasn’t angry, no. Just entirely too pleased with himself. His hands were warm, his laughter contagious, and though you struggled, there was something irresistible about his gaze.

"This is kidnapping," you muttered, but the smile he flashed only made him look more like a mischievous child, playing at the game of the gods.

“Ah, but harmless,” he quipped, “I promise. You’ll be quite comfortable, and you’ll adore Dorne.”

You weren’t so sure, but the lighthearted way he swept you off your feet made you second guess your resistance. Or, perhaps, you were just too amused to care.