roni

She was everything Valarr was not allowed to protect from Aerion’s attention; beautiful in a way that felt almost unreal, as though the gods had carved her from moonlight and breath. Her presence softened rooms hardened by ambition; her voice carried warmth even when she spoke of duty and politics.

There was gentleness in her eyes, a kindness that made even hardened knights falter in their speech. She smiled with sincerity, laughed without any mocking tilt, and believed, foolishly, dangerously, in the goodness of those around her.

Including Aerion.

Including Valarr.

Including the world that watched her like prey.

Aerion’s obsession with her was no secret and Valarr knew it.

He had known it from the first day Aerion saw her.

It had been at court, months before the betrothal was announced. Y/N had stood beside her father, hands folded neatly before her, listening as the king spoke of alliances and futures. She had worn pale silk that caught the light, her hair braided simply, as though she had not understood how every gaze in the hall would be drawn to her.

Valarr remembered turning to Aerion then, only briefly, only out of habit.

It was a mistake.

Aerion had been smiling.

Not the sharp, mocking grin he wore when he bested someone. Not the lazy curve of his mouth when he bored of conversation.

This smile was intent.

Focused.

Hungry.

He looked like a dragon wanting to devour a lamb.

“Well,” Aerion had murmured, not taking his eyes off her, “isn’t she exquisite?”

Valarr’s stomach had tightened.

“She is spoken for,” Valarr said flatly.

Aerion had laughed softly. “So is half the realm.”

That had been the beginning.

Now, months later, the torment had become ritual.

The tournament grounds were alive with noise; steel ringing against steel, horses snorting, banners snapping in the wind. Valarr stood near the lists, helm tucked under his arm, sweat cooling on his skin as he watched the next bout assemble.

Aerion approached like a shadow given form.

“Well fought,” Aerion said lightly. “You nearly took Ser Harlan’s head off.”

Valarr didn’t look at him. “If you’ve come to mock, do it quickly.”

Aerion chuckled. “Impatient. Is that for me, or for her?”

Valarr stiffened.

“She asked about you,” Aerion continued pleasantly. “Your sweet Y/N. Wondered if you’d be fighting again before supper.”

Valarr turned sharply. “You spoke to her?”

“Briefly.” Aerion shrugged. “She was radiant, as ever. Concerned. It’s charming how she worries.”

“You have no right—”

“No right?” Aerion raised a brow. “Cousin, we are family. And she is soon to be family too, is she not?”

Valarr’s hand tightened around his helm.

Aerion leaned closer, lowering his voice. “She smiled when I told her you fought like a man with something precious to lose.”

Valarr’s jaw clenched. “Stay away from her.”

Aerion’s eyes gleamed. “Or what?”

The unspoken truth hung between them.

Or nothing.

Because Valarr knew the cruel truth he could never escape.

Aerion always got what he wanted.

That night, Y/N sat by the window in her chambers, candlelight painting her features soft and luminous. She was brushing her hair when Valarr entered, his presence filling the room with tension he could not shed.

“You’re late,” she said gently, smiling at him in the mirror.

“The tournament ran long,” he replied.

She rose at once, crossing the room to him. Her hands found his, cool and reassuring. “You weren’t hurt?”

“No,” Valarr said quickly. “I’m fine.”

She searched his face. “You’re troubled.”

Valarr hesitated. How could he tell her that the man who laughed with her at supper looked at her like conquest? That every kindness Aerion showed was a calculated cruelty aimed at him?

“It’s nothing,” he lied, giving her a brief kiss on her forehead.

She nodded, trusting him as she always did. “Your cousin Aerion spoke of you today.”

Valarr’s blood went cold. “Did he?”

“Yes. He said you fought bravely.” She smiled. “He seems… fond of you.”

Valarr forced a tight smile. “He enjoys games.”

Y/N laughed softly. “He does have a sharp tongue, but I think there is warmth beneath it.”

Valarr closed his eyes briefly.

If only she knew.

Weeks passed. The taunts grew sharper.

Aerion praised her beauty too openly. Commented on her kindness in ways that sounded like claims. He found reasons to be near her, at feasts, in gardens, during council gatherings where she had no business but was invited nonetheless.

Always with a smile.

Always with Valarr watching helplessly.

One evening, Aerion intercepted Valarr in a quiet corridor.

“She wears blue tonight,” Aerion said casually. “It suits her.”

Valarr stopped walking. “Why do you do this?”

Aerion tilted his head. “Do what?”

“This,” Valarr snapped. “You know what you’re doing.”

Aerion stepped closer. “I’m admiring what is admirable.”

“She is not yours.”

Aerion’s smile faded, just slightly. “Not yet.”

The words were soft.

Terrifying.

Valarr felt something break then, something brittle and long-strained. “If you touch her—”

“You’ll what?” Aerion interrupted. “Challenge me? Defy me? Beg?”

Aerion leaned in, voice a whisper. “You know how this ends.”

Valarr did. He had always known.

Because Aerion had never been denied.

Not crowns.

Not dragons.

Not people.

And Y/N—sweet, ethereal Y/N—was standing far too close to the fire.

When Aerion finally spoke to her alone, it was in the gardens at dusk.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said gently, approaching her beneath the flowering trees.

She turned, startled, then smiled. “I enjoy the quiet.”

“So do I,” Aerion said. “Especially when it leads me to pleasant company.”

She blushed faintly. “You flatter too easily.”

“Only when it’s deserved.”

They walked together, Aerion matching her pace. He spoke kindly, thoughtfully, of books, of music, of duty and the weight of expectation. He listened when she spoke, truly listened, and she found herself relaxing despite herself.

“You care for Valarr deeply,” Aerion said at last.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “He is good and honorable.”

Aerion nodded. “He is fortunate.”

She glanced at him. “You speak as though you envy him.”

Aerion smiled. “Perhaps I do.”

Something in his tone made her uneasy.

But she did not yet know the shape of the storm.

And Valarr, watching from afar, felt the future closing in.

Because Aerion was patient and inevitable.

And the cruel truth waited, smiling, with fire in its eyes.

Valarr did not remember deciding to go to her.

He only knew that his feet carried him through the corridors of the Red Keep as though pulled by a cord tied directly to his chest, tight and aching. The torches blurred past. His thoughts were a storm: Aerion’s voice, Aerion’s smile, Aerion’s certainty echoing again and again in his mind.

Not yet.

By the time he reached Y/N’s chambers, his breath was uneven.

He did not knock gently.

She opened the door herself, surprise flickering across her delicate features before relief softened her expression.

“Valarr—”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with more force than necessary.

She turned fully to him then, eyes searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, he only looked at her.

Candlelight wrapped her in gold. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her gown simple but clinging where it mattered, as though it had been made for his hands alone. She looked at him with concern and trust and quiet devotion and something in him fractured.

“I can’t lose you,” he said hoarsely.

Her breath caught. “Valarr—”

He crossed the space between them in two strides and cupped her face, his hands warm and trembling despite all his training. She gasped softly at the suddenness of it, but she did not pull away.

Instead, she leaned into him.

“I can’t,” he repeated, pressing his forehead to hers. “I won’t.”

“Lose me to what?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

He kissed her.

Not gently. Not cautiously.

His mouth found hers with a hunger that startled them both, weeks of restraint breaking all at once. Her lips parted beneath his, a soft sound escaping her as she clutched at his tunic, fingers curling into the fabric as though anchoring herself to him.

“Valarr,” she breathed against his mouth, her voice unsteady.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, savoring her warmth, the familiar sweetness of her, the way she responded so readily, so completely, as though she had been waiting for this same release.

His hands slid to her waist, firm, possessive, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the tension in him, coiled and urgent, and it sent a shiver through her.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw.

“So are you,” he replied.

She laughed softly, breathless. “Because you’re frightening me.”

He stilled at once. “I would never—”

“Not like that,” she said quickly, lifting her hands to his cheeks. “You frighten me because you want me.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

The word was bare. Honest. Heavy with promise.

She kissed him then, tentatively at first, as if asking permission. When he answered her with a low sound and drew her back into him, her courage blossomed. Her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as she kissed him more boldly.

He groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers once more.

“If I don’t slow,” he said, voice rough, “I won’t stop.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she did not pull away. “Then don’t stop.”

The invitation was quiet.

Devastating.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then the delicate line of her throat, his lips lingering there as though memorizing her. Her head tipped back instinctively, her breath hitching, her hands tightening on him.

“Valarr,” she whispered again, and this time his name sounded like a plea.

“I am yours,” he said fiercely, lifting his head to look at her. “Do you hear me? Whatever comes, I am yours.”

Her eyes shone. “And I am yours.”

He kissed her once more, slower now, deeper, the urgency tempered by reverence. His hand slid up her back, resting between her shoulders, holding her as though she were something precious and fragile both.

They stayed that way for a long moment, breathing each other in, the world outside the chamber forgotten.

Until Valarr pulled back, just enough to rest his brow against hers again.

“There is something I haven’t told you,” he said.

Her smile faded, replaced by concern. “What is it?”

He hesitated.

Because speaking Aerion’s name felt like inviting poison into the room.

But the truth pressed at him, insistent and sharp.

“My cousin,” he said finally. “Aerion.”

Her brow furrowed. “What about him?”

Valarr closed his eyes. “He wants you.”

Silence fell between them.

Her breath slowed. “Wants me… how?”

Valarr opened his eyes and met her gaze. “The way he has always wanted everything he sees.”

She drew back slightly then, not from Valarr, but from the weight of his words.

“He’s been kind to me,” she said uncertainly.

“He is kind to what he intends to claim,” Valarr replied bitterly.

She looked shaken now. “Valarr, surely you exaggerate—”

“I am not,” he said, gripping her hands. “And that is why I came to you tonight. Because if he moves against us—”

“He won’t,” she said, though doubt flickered in her eyes.

“He will,” Valarr said quietly. “And I need you to understand the danger.”

She searched his face, then nodded slowly. “Then we face it together.”

Something in her certainty nearly undid him.

He pulled her back into his arms, holding her tightly, his lips pressing into her hair.

“I swear to you,” he murmured, “he will not take you from me.”

Unseen beyond the chamber walls, fate listened and smiled.

Because Aerion Targaryen had never failed to take what he desired.

And now, desire had sharpened into something far more dangerous.

The Great Hall burned with excess.

Candlelight glimmered against gold and silver, laughter rang too loud, and music flowed in practiced waves meant to drown out thought.

Y/N sat beside Valarr at the high table, serene in appearance if not in spirit. Her silver gown clung softly to her form, luminous beneath the firelight, her beauty drawing eyes no matter how she tried to fade into the background.

Yet she felt exposed.

She could feel Aerion’s gaze as surely as if it were a physical thing; hot, unwavering, intolerably precise.

Each time she lifted her eyes, she found him watching her, not with the careless interest of a courtly admirer, but with something far more focused.

As though the noise of the hall meant nothing.

As though she were the only constant in the room.

Valarr noticed her tension. He leaned toward her, his voice low. “You’re pale.”

“I’m only warm,” she replied, managing a small smile.

“Do not leave my side,” he said, firmer than before. “Not tonight.”

She covered his hand with hers. “I won’t.”

But the hall pressed closer with every passing moment. Voices overlapped. Laughter rang too sharp. When Valarr was drawn into conversation once more, she rose quietly, intending only to step away long enough to breathe.

She did not realize she was being followed.

She had not gone far when Aerion’s voice reached her. “Moonlight suits you better than fire.”

Her heart jumped before she could still it. Turning, she found him standing just within her space, his presence immediate and deliberate. He had left the light of the hall behind; shadows carved his handsome features sharper, more dangerous.

“My prince,” she said carefully, “I should return.”

“You will,” he replied, calm and certain. “After.”

She glanced back toward the feast. “After what?”

“After you stop pretending you don’t know,” he said.

They stood beneath a tall archway overlooking the dark gardens below. Moonlight spilled through the windows, pale and cold, stripping the warmth from everything it touched.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

Aerion studied her as though she were something rare, something he had taken the time to understand. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Her voice tightened. “I am betrothed.”

“Yes,” he said. “To Valarr.”

She lifted her chin. “Then this conversation should end.”

Aerion stepped closer.

Not hurried. Not aggressive.

Certain.

“You mistake courtesy for restraint,” he said softly. “I have shown you only what the court allows. Not what I want.”

She remembered Valarr’s words.

Her breath faltered. “You shouldn’t want—”

He reached for her then.

His hand closed around her jaw, firm, unyielding, tilting her face upward whether she wished it or not. Before she could draw breath to protest, before thought could catch up to instinct, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was not gentle.

It was not searching.

It was a claim.

His lips pressed against hers with unmistakable intent, holding her there, unmoving, as though the world had narrowed to that single point of contact. There was heat in it; control, obsession, a terrible certainty that left no room for misunderstanding.

Her hands lifted instinctively, catching against his chest, not yet pushing, not yet yielding. Her breath hitched sharply, the shock of it ringing through her.

When he finally drew back, it was unhurried.

Her lips still burned. Her pulse thundered.

Aerion did not look away.

“There,” he said quietly. “Now you know.”

Her voice trembled. “You had no right.”

He smiled, not amused, not apologetic, but satisfied. “I take rights, my lady. I don’t ask for them.”

“That was wrong,” she whispered.

“No,” he replied. “It was inevitable.”

She shook her head, fighting the confusion rising in her chest, anger braided tightly with something far more frightening. “You’ve put me in danger.”

His gaze darkened. “You were always in danger. You simply hadn’t realized it yet.”

She stared at him, breath shallow. “You don’t even regret it.”

“No,” Aerion said plainly. “I wanted to brand myself on you. So I did.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

“You should go back to him,” Aerion continued, stepping aside at last. “Smile. Sit at his side. Be the dutiful betrothed.”

She swallowed. “And you?”

“I will watch,” he said. “As I always have.”

She turned away from him then, her steps unsteady as she made her way back toward the light. The sounds of the feast rushed in again—music, laughter, voices—but none of it reached her.

When she returned to the high table, Valarr looked up at once.

“There you are,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”

She forced herself to smile, though her lips still tingled, though her heart had not slowed. “I’m sorry. I needed air.”

He studied her face, frowning slightly. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” she said too quickly.

Across the table, Aerion lifted his goblet.

Their eyes met.

His smile was slow. Possessive. Certain.

And in that moment, Y/N understood, with chilling clarity, that the kiss had not been a transgression Aerion feared the consequences of.