The heavy doors of the council chamber swung open as the meeting of the Small Council finally came to an end. Lords and advisors filtered out in quiet clusters, their voices low with politics and complaints. Last to leave was Daemon Targaryen.

Daemon walked the halls of the Red Keep with the easy confidence of a man who belonged anywhere he pleased. His boots echoed against the stone as he rolled the stiffness from his shoulders, already bored of whatever dull arguments had filled the chamber.

He barely noticed the quick footsteps approaching until a hand suddenly grabbed the front of his collar.

Before he could even react, he was yanked sideways.

Daemon was dragged down a quiet corridor and shoved hard against the stone wall of an empty hallway. The impact wasn’t enough to hurt—but it certainly got his attention.

His silver brows lifted slightly.

His wife stood before him, one hand fisted tightly in the front of his tunic, pinning him there with surprising strength. Her eyes burned with something fierce—anger, jealousy… possession.

“You. Are. Not. To. Be. Around. Her. Anymore.”

Each word came sharp and deliberate.

Daemon blinked once, genuinely caught off guard.

“Do I make myself clear, Daemon?” she continued, leaning closer, her voice low but full of dangerous promise. “Because if she does not stop with the touching and flirting, I will kill her myself.”

Her grip tightened.

“You are mine and I do not fucking share.”

For a moment the hallway was silent except for their breathing.

Daemon had seen many sides of his wife—clever, stubborn, bold enough to challenge nobles twice her size.

But this?

This was new.

This was possessive.

Slowly, a grin began to creep across his face.

Not mocking. Not annoyed.

Delighted.

His hands, which had initially lifted in surprise, now settled casually against the wall on either side of her, caging her in without actually touching.

His violet eyes gleamed with something dark and amused.

“Gods…” he murmured, voice low with intrigue. “And here I thought I was the dangerous one in this marriage.”

His gaze flicked over her furious expression, clearly enjoying every second of it.

“That servant?” he continued lazily. “The one who bats her lashes every time I walk past?”

He gave a small, dismissive huff.

“I barely know her name.”

His eyes returned to his wife’s face, the smirk widening as he leaned his head slightly closer.

“But you threatening murder over me?”

There was a spark of heat in his voice now.

Daemon looked almost impressed.

“Should I be concerned for her… or honored?”

He tilted his head, studying her like she had just revealed a very entertaining secret.

“Because I must say…” he added, voice dropping softer, more dangerous.

“I quite like seeing you this way.”