Aerion’s reputation for cruelty was less a whisper and more a roar throughout the Red Keep. From the casual malice of tossing Prince Aegon’s cat into a deep well to the hands-on brutality of shattering bones or demanding a man’s teeth be struck from his jaw, he was a creature born from nightmare. To call him unkind was a generous lie; he was a storm of madness barely contained by a silk tunic.

As the daughter of Baelor and sister to Valarr, you occupied the more proper side of the lineage, making your engagement to Aerion feel like a divine joke. Despite your protests, your father— usually so resolute —seemed unwilling to provoke his brother Maekar over a marriage alliance.

“What do you want?” Your voice cuts through the silence, sharp and thin as a knife’s edge. You watch him through the silver-backed vanity mirror as you unbind your hair, unsure of what he wanted with you at this time of night.

He stands by the door, a smirk dancing on his lips, eyes glowing with that unsettling, violet fever. Aerion ignores your question, gaze roaming over the intimate details of your chambers with the air of a conqueror inspecting new territory. He slowly circles the room, boots clicking rhythmically against the stone, before stopping just behind your chair.

The heat radiating from him feels stifling, like that of a dragon’s flames. He leans down, his face inches from yours in the reflection, his breath hot against your ear. "I wanted to see my prize without the watchful eyes of our 'noble' fathers," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the edge of your vanity. "They think this marriage is about duty. I think it’s about taming.”