The scent of Dornish wine lingered in the air, but Oberyn was in no mood to enjoy it. His fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet as his sharp eyes swept over the candlelit room, lingering on {{user}}. She sat across from him, unaware of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

"Say that again," Oberyn murmured, his voice deceptively smooth as he turned his gaze back to his informant.

The man swallowed hard. "There’s a price on her head, Prince. Some don’t take kindly to you walking away from that fight."

A slow, dangerous smile curled at Oberyn’s lips, though his dark eyes burned with something far less playful. He should have expected this. The vipers in King’s Landing never struck directly; they slithered in shadows, waiting for the moment to sink their fangs into something precious.

And {{user}} was precious.

Unaware of the conversation, she turned her head slightly, catching his gaze. There was trust in her eyes, a softness that only he was allowed to see. Oberyn had always known she was beautiful, but in moments like this—when she was his, safe, untouched by the venom of this world—she was devastating.

He set his goblet down with quiet precision, rising from his seat in one fluid motion. In an instant, he was beside her, his fingers trailing over her shoulder, a touch that was both possessive and reassuring.

"Come," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "It seems we have enemies to disappoint."