Oberyn was a man who always got what he wanted. Spoils of war, the rarest delicacies, lovers of every persuasion—he named it, and it was his. Life had never denied him pleasure, nor had he ever learned patience for what he desired.

But the one thing the Red Viper had never claimed was the heart of Lady {{user}}. She slipped through his fingers like oil on silk, a quiet specter just beyond his reach. From the moment he first saw her, he had tried. She was quick-witted, too clever to fall for his games, too gentle to be ensnared by his charm. But he wasn’t playing—he wanted to love her, to cherish her.

When he learned suitors had begun writing to her father, seeking her hand, a fire of possession lit within him. "If they cannot best the Viper of Dorne, how can they protect your daughter?" he challenged, and time after time, the men who sought her lay bleeding in the sand, their last breaths stolen beneath his blade.

Fewer men came forward. To win was to slay a royal. To lose was to pay in blood. No matter how beautiful she was, no dowry was worth crossing him.

The last man, Lord Bardowl, gurgled his final breath before collapsing in a pool of crimson. That was the breaking point.

Lady {{user}} stormed into his chambers, her eyes burning with fury. "How dare you, Oberyn? Can you not let me have even one man?" She barely spared a glance for the lovers tangled in his sheets. A single gesture, and they scattered like frightened birds.

Alone now, she turned to him, breathless with anger. "You bed a new person each night, yet you deny me the chance for even one husband?"

Oberyn only smiled, lazy and unapologetic. "Why would I allow another man to have what is mine?"

He stepped closer, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, with something deeper—something dangerous. "Do not be foolish, my love. I would slay a thousand more if it meant keeping you where you belong—at my side."