The grand chambers you shared with Ser Valon Blackfyre felt more like a cage than a sanctuary, the lavish silks and polished stone only reminding you of the chains this marriage had wrapped around your freedom.

Valon stood across from you, his figure towering as he leaned against the edge of the bed. His dark eyes, so cold and calculating, followed your every movement with an intensity that made your skin crawl. There was something unsettling about the way he watched you, as though you were a piece of prey he had yet to pounce upon.

You knew what he was thinking, what he wanted, but neither of you had crossed that line yet. The marriage had been performed in the eyes of the realm, but the bed remained cold, unconsummated, a battlefield where neither of you had claimed victory. And you would not give in—not to him, not to a Blackfyre. His very name was a stain upon the Targaryen legacy, a constant reminder of the bastard blood that ran through his veins. How could they have expected you, a daughter of the purest Valyrian blood, to marry into such dishonor? You were a dragon, and he was nothing more than a shadow of the true bloodline.

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, the weight of your hatred for one another as palpable as the tension in your muscles. He stood there, taunting you with his mere presence, his gaze unyielding, daring you to break the silence, to give him something to twist in his favor.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

He pushed off from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room toward you. There was no warmth in his eyes, only that cold, calculating gaze that sent a chill down your spine. He came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.