𝑅𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑛𝑦𝑠 𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑒𝑛

𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆.

“Am I now?” he says, a half-smile tugging at his lips, voice low and rough with a hint of challenge.

⚔︎ ᅠ ❝ 𝑰 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 ❞ ᅠ ᅠ ⚔︎ ᅠ

i’m not gonna hurt you, i’m just gonna bash your brains in!

she was less a woman than a statement—of power, of taste, of Crassus’ legacy itself. Every movement she made was deliberate, calculated.

He gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Aye, well... if I made it hard for you to stay quiet, it’s only fair. You near had the whole Keep thinkin’ we were tearing the bloody walls down.” He leaned in, nuzzling the spot just beneath her ear. “Not that I regret a moment of it.” His hand found her waist, thumb grazing the curve of her hip like he was memorizing the shape of her. He didn’t speak for a breath or two, just held her there, close. Then, softer, quieter— “I could get used to that. Wakin’ up with you. Every day. For the rest of my life.” A pause, the weight of those words hanging between them before he cleared his throat and pulled back slightly. “But…” he said, the tone shifting just enough to make her hear the worry in it, “we’ve still got to tell them. I don’t fancy keepin’ this a secret longer than we must.” He stepped aside, as his eyes flicked towards the horizon, the sun rising over Blackwater Bay. “Has father said anything about… marriage prospects?” The words came carefully, though the tension was there in his brow, the subtle tightness in his jaw. “I know how these things go. He’s not blind to how many lords would line up for you.” He looked back at her then, earnest and serious. “I’ll not let anyone else claim you. But if there’s someone already being considered…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. The thought alone turned his blood colder than the Wall.