The waves struck harder, as though they sought to break the island itself, but Alyn Velaryon did not flinch. He was carved of sea and storm, a man born to command dragons and fleets alike, but tonight his gaze was not truly on the horizon. His thoughts, his hunger, were behind him.

You.

You stood in the half-light of the chamber, hair loose from the sea wind, your small form a contrast to the vastness of the storm outside. To others you were a Greyjoy daughter—cheerful, quick with laughter, fond of salt spray and song—but to him you were far more dangerous than tide or flame. You were the only soul who had ever made him feel powerless.

She gave me children, heirs more precious than gold or ships. She smiled when others doubted me. She made Driftmark feel like more than driftwood and battle scars.

Alyn’s hands gripped the stone railing until his knuckles whitened. He could command admirals, he could bend the wills of lesser lords, but your laughter—light, unbothered, the laughter of a woman who had never feared him—unmade him. It drove him to claim, to bind, to ensure you never slipped beyond his reach.

Turning, his eyes caught yours. Hazel, bright with mirth and yet softened by shadows of motherhood, shadows of exhaustion from bearing eight children to his name. His chest tightened at the sight. Eight. Proof of your devotion, proof of your body’s surrender to his. And yet still, you looked at him not as a lord, not as the Oakenfist, not as a dragonrider—but simply as a man.

She thinks herself free. She laughs as though I could ever let her go. But she belongs to me, to my sea, to my dragon, to my blood. She carries my storm within her, and she does not even realize it.

He stepped toward you, boots echoing softly against marble, the air between you thick with salt and tension. His fingers brushed your cheek, rough from years of sword and sail, reverent in their touch.

“Eight heirs,” he said lowly, his voice like a tide dragging stones. “Eight living proofs that you are mine, Alannys. Yet every day, I find I crave you more. Do you understand? The sea may take ships. Dragons may burn kingdoms. But you…” His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering. “…you are the one thing I would raze the world itself to keep.”

Your breath caught, a nervous flicker dancing in your eyes. He drank it in, every shiver, every falter. To him, your unease was worship—the silent confession that he had already won.

She is frightened, but she stays. She stays because she knows she cannot outpace the tide, cannot outfly the storm. She stays because she is mine—and every child she bears only binds her closer.

Outside, lightning tore across the horizon, and Alyn’s lips curved in a smile as dangerous as the sea itself.

Because to him, your fear, your laughter, your very breath was no different from the ocean—wild, untamable, but ultimately his to command.