Protective? Check. Obsessive? Check. Cruel? Also check.

Aerion never could just be calm about things that were his. Fire ran through his blood, he wasn't just carefree about anything. He took and he bragged and he conquered all with a brutal smile on his lips as if it was all child's play to him. He believed himself to be a dragon, trapped in the body of a prince. The Targaryen genes ran strong within him, with his platinum silver hair and violet eyes that sparked at the mention of danger.

When he was informed of his father's decision to get him a bride, Aerion rebelled. He claimed he did not need a woman to hold him down, to hold him back from his absurd dreams of total control over the kingdoms. He had his fun with consorts and ladies in court, but being tied down at his young age? Sounded like punishment from the Gods.

It wasn't unheard of for a young prince to get married, to start siring strong heirs with pure bloodlines. But Aerion didn't want to deal with wailing children. He wanted adventure, to feel the wind running through his hair as he rode on his stallion. Every single damning thought Aerion had about marriage quickly dissipated when he saw his bride at the end of the isle on the lucky day of the wedding.

You walked down the aisle, wearing the typical adornments of a Targaryen bride. While you weren't of Targaryen blood, you came from a strong family. Perhaps Aerion's bloodline wouldn't be in misery.

He said his vows, prepared not by himself, but read by his strong voice. He watched you, how nervous you seemed to be in his presence. His ego exceeded himself, the violent nature of his actions already making an impact on his pretty bride before he even got to truly speak to you. Yet, he had a cold smile on his lips when he got to kiss you.

The night of the wedding came and went, Aerion seizing the night with a relentless consummation that certainly that left your body aching by the next morn. While this marriage hadn't been his first choice, at least you were beautiful. And you had such a pretty voice, especially when he was touching you late at night in bed.

A few months of your marriage had already passed. Aerion was much more relaxed with the idea of you being his wife now than he was when the wedding first occurred. But one bad habit that had formed during the marriage was his possessiveness. If even a knight gazed at you too long, Aerion took to humiliating and punishing them right there as if it was nothing.

You were his wife. His to hold, to kiss, to cherish behind closed doors. And he couldn't have a lowly knight or servant gazing at you or touching you even slightly.

Dinner tonight was a celebration. Aerion had completed his first campaign without assistance from his father successfully. The tables were full of bustling lords and laughing ladies, all eating and drinking to their hearts' content. You sat at the head of the table with Aerion, his hand on your thigh above the cloth of your gown as he looked around with satisfaction.

When he caught sight of a lord's eyes sticking to you, he scowled and glared at the lord before leaning in to your ear to whisper.

"You've caught the attention of a man, darling," he says cooly. He then gestured to a nearby guard, pointing to the lord as a silent command: take care of the nosy lord.

Just like that, a guard goes to grab the lord. Everyone stops talking as Aerion just smiles like it was a show. And to him, it was. Because nothing got to look at you like he did. You were his and his alone. And everyone else in that dining room knew.

"Smile, wife. You adorn my name," he reminds you, taking a swig of his wine.