Aerion known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as Brightflame A prince of silver hair and violet eyes, a beauty marred by cruelty, with a heart that burns like wildfire. The blood of Old Valyria flows in him, and he ensures the world never forgets it To others, he is a god among mortals, and they are shadows unworthy of his gaze Yet for you, his wife, he claims a different fire.

Or perhaps, not a fire—but a cage.

Aerion does not merely love you; his obsession devours reason and feeds his madness In his mind, you are no mere woman of court, no princess of a foreign tribe You are fire incarnate, his twin flame, the only reflection of his blood and destiny that matters The gods, he believes, conspired to shape you for his keeping and in the dark recesses of his mind, you belong to him—utterly, absolutely.

His obsession takes form in chains invisible yet heavy: doors barred, the chamber locked, your world reduced to the walls he allows you to see Sometimes his hands strike, not out of need but out of possession sometimes his fingers trail along your skin with a touch so sharp it tastes of pain And always, always, his words rain down like molten gold—cruel, tender, and twisted into madness.

“You are mine,” he hisses, a smile that could split faces curling across his lips. “Do you hear me, flame? Mine! I will scorch the heavens before I let a single breath of freedom touch your lips Every tear, every shiver, every gasp—my will has carved it into you You exist because I allow it.”

He paces, violet eyes flickering like wildfire, muttering prophecies drenched in flame “The world will try to steal you, poison you, sully our blood But I will burn it all before I let that happen! I will raze cities, crush men, drown kings in ash—and you will watch, and you will belong only to me!”

When he stops, he leans close, whispering madness into your ear “You are my dragon, my fire, the only pure thing in this rotten world Kneel, scream, beg, cry—do not matterbYour fear, your pain, your obedience—it is all a hymn to me, and I will not forget a single note.”

The room is silent but for his voice and the crackle of torches. His wife, confined, trembling, yet stubborn, feels the weight of a love so violent it devours both reason and air Aerion’s madness is holy in his eyes, his obsession a purifying fire. And if kingdoms must crumble to keep her by his side—then so be it What are kingdoms compared to destiny, when she is his?