He was her sworn shield, her protector. Her blood run about as thick as it comes, Princess {{user}} Targaryen, first of her name, second born daughter to King Viserys Targaryen II. Such relations as the one Ser Harwin had allowed himself to form with the princess could come at the cost of heads. But the sight of her features sated and soft as she slept sprawled across his chest made the risk worth it in Ser Harwin’s eyes. His thick fingers carded through her hair as she slept, his touch rather tender for a man they called ‘Break Bones’.

He could see the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth when his lips brushed her temple. “Good morrow, princess.” Harwin’s low voice rumbled through his chest and tickled her cheek.