The birds scattered in fear, and your peaceful silence was instantly shattered. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The heavy, confident footsteps and the familiar scent of leather, sweat, and dragon-fire could only belong to one person.

"I knew I would find you hiding here," Aerion's voice echoed through the quiet room, smooth but laced with his usual arrogance.

You finally looked up from your book, watching your twin brother stride toward your table. He was dressed in his riding leathers, his silver-gold hair slightly damp from sweat, and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He had clearly just returned from the Dragonpit.

"You frightened my birds, Erri," you said, a soft, teasing pout forming on your lips. "And some of us actually enjoy reading in peace."

"Books and birds," Aerion scoffed lightly, stopping right beside your chair. He leaned down, placing both hands on the arms of your seat, effectively trapping you between his body and the wooden desk. His violet eyes locked onto yours, burning with that familiar, intense energy. "You waste too much time with things that cannot love you back, sweet sister."

You blushed at his sudden proximity, your heart doing a familiar little flutter. "Books do not pick fights with the Gold Cloaks or cause scandals in the lower yard, so I find them much better company."

Aerion let out a low, rumbling chuckle, completely unfazed by your remark. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek for a second too long. "I only fight when someone forgets who we are. We are the blood of the dragon. The rest of this city is just dust beneath our feet."

"Father will still scold you if he hears you caused another scene," you murmured, leaning slightly into his touch despite yourself.

"Let him," Aerion muttered darkly, his gaze dropping to your lips. He leaned in a fraction closer, his breath warm against your skin. "As long as you are by my side, I do not care about his lectures."

Before the tension in the air could boil over into something more, the distant sound of heavy armor echoing from the corridor made you both freeze. You gently pushed his chest, signaling him to step back. Aerion grumbled under his breath, straightening up just as a royal page entered the library to announce that Prince Maekar required his children's presence for the evening meal.

Aerion offered you a wicked, knowing grin, extending his arm toward you. "Come, my little dragon. Let's go listen to our father complain about the realm."

You couldn't help but giggle, closing your book and lacing your fingers through his arm as he led you out into the sprawling stone corridors of King's Landing.

The private dining hall of Maegor’s Holdfast was suffocatingly quiet, save for the scraping of silver cutlery against porcelain. Prince Maekar sat at the head of the long table, his stern face shadowed by the flickering candlelight. You sat quietly to his right, looking soft and elegant in a pale silk gown, while Aerion sat directly across from you, his violet eyes locked onto you like a hawk.

Further down the table, your eldest brother, Daeron, was already slouched over his third cup of heavy Arbor wine, looking thoroughly bored. Next to him, young Aegon—whom everyone called Egg—was trying to eat his supper properly under his father’s watchful eye.

"I heard you caused another commotion in the lower yard today, Aerion," Maekar spoke, his deep voice cutting through the silence like an iron gavel.

Aerion didn't even look at his father. He casually cut a piece of roasted meat, his eyes never leaving your face. "The master-at-arms was incompetent, Father. I merely corrected his form."

"You nearly broke his arm, brother," Daeron chimed in with a slurred, lazy chuckle, swirling his wine. "And everyone knows you were just showing off because our sweet sister was watching from the gallery."

Aerion’s jaw clenched instantly. He shot Daeron a glare so icy it could have frozen the Narrow Sea. "Hold your tongue, drunkard, before I hold it for you."

"Enough!" Maekar slammed his fist on the table, making the goblets rattle. Egg jumped slightly in his seat. "I will not have this bickering at my table. We have guests arriving tomorrow from the Stormlands, and I expect both of you to behave like princes."

Maekar then turned his gaze to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "Lord Serrett’s youngest son, Ser Gwayne, will also be arriving with the vanguard. He is a knight of good repute, and his father has spoken highly of his desire to court you, my dear."

You nearly choked on your wine, your cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "Court me, Father? But—"

Before you could finish, a loud, sharp crack echoed through the room.

Aerion had slammed his silver knife so hard into the wooden table that the blade stood upright, vibrating. The entire family froze, looking at him. Aerion’s face was a mask of pure, untamed fury. The arrogance from earlier was completely gone, replaced by a dark, dangerous madness.

"He will not court her," Aerion hissed, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

Maekar’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "He is a knight of a noble house, Aerion. It is my decision to make, not yours."

"I don't care if he is the King himself!" Aerion snapped, standing up from his chair so violently it toppled over onto the stone floor. He leaned over the table, his knuckles turning white as he stared directly at his father, though his protective aura wrapped entirely around you. "She belongs in the Red Keep. She belongs with the blood of the dragon. If this Ser Gwayne so much as breathes in her direction tomorrow, I will carve his heart out in the training yard and feed it to the hounds."

"Aerion, sit down this instant!" Maekar roared, standing up to face his son, the sheer authority of a prince radiating from him.

But Aerion was past the point of listening. He shot one last, fiercely possessive glance at you—a gaze that clearly said you are mine and no one else’s—before turning on his heel and striding out of the dining hall, his heavy cloak billowing behind him as the doors slammed shut.

Daeron let out a low whistle, taking another sip of his wine. "Well... tomorrow's training session is going to be a bloodbath."

You sat frozen in your seat, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. You knew Aerion’s temper, but seeing him snap like that in front of your father made you realize just how deep and terrifying his obsession is.

The heavy oak doors of your bedchamber slammed shut with a deafening thud, cutting off the distant, suffocating murmurs of the Red Keep. Aerion let go of your hand, but before you could even take a breath, he stepped into your space, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

"Erri, you went too far tonight," you whispered, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. "Slabbing your knife into the table? Threatening to carve out a lord's heart in front of Father?"

"I don't care about Father, and I care even less about some pathetic knight from the Stormlands," Aerion hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl that radiated pure heat. He reached out, his long fingers wrapping firmly around your jaw, forcing you to look up into his burning violet eyes. "Did you want him to court you? Did you want that Ser Gwayne to touch you?"

"Of course not!" you cried out, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. "You know I only want you. But you terrify me when you lose control like this."

Seeing the tear slip down your cheek, the wild, manic fury in Aerion's eyes suddenly flickered, softening into a raw, desperate hunger. The hand on your jaw moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping the tear away with a tenderness that contrast entirely with his previous violence.

"I only lose control because the thought of anyone else looking at you makes me want to burn this entire city to ash," he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath was hot, smelling faintly of the wine from dinner. "You are my twin. My other half. You belong to me, and I will destroy anyone who tries to take what is mine."

"No one is taking me, Erri," you breathed, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip his shoulders, completely captivated by his intense proximity.

"Prove it to me," he demanded softly.

Aerion didn't wait for another word. He slammed his lips against yours in a fierce, bruising kiss that completely stole the air from your lungs. It was a hungry, desperate claim—tasting of raw passion, possessiveness, and the dangerous fire of Old Valyria.

You let out a soft gasp into his mouth, which only made him grow bolder. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, lifting you slightly as he pressed your body hard against his chest, deepening the kiss until your head spun. The anger and tension from the dining hall vanished completely, melted away by the overwhelming warmth of his touch in the dark, quiet safety of your room.

His hands seized your waist, ripping the nightgown from your body in one swift motion. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck, followed by a trail of searing kisses. His fingers found their way to your breast, squeezing possessively. "You will not speak of him again," he growled, voice thick with dominance. "You are mine, and I am yours—by blood."

You writhed beneath him, your apology cut short as Aerion’s mouth crashed onto yours, silencing you with a bruising kiss. His hands tugged your underwear down before forcing your thighs apart, his tongue dragging slowly through your slick heat. He slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, and your eyes fluttered shut, unable to watch as he worked you open. His movements quickened, his finger curling inside you until you were trembling, overstimulated from just one digit. "Come on," he taunted, smirking. "Are you close, sweet sister?" His other hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks, his fingers digging in as you whimpered, your voice failing you.

Aerion’s gaze darkened as he watched you unravel. "See?" he murmured, voice dripping with possession. "Who touches you like this? that knight? No. I do. You’re mine." His words sent a shiver down your spine as he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you with relentless precision. He could feel you teetering on the edge. "Come for me," he commanded, pulling his fingers free just as your climax crashed over you. You clutched the sheets, your body shuddering as pleasure ripped through you.

He pressed a kiss to your thigh, murmuring, "Good girl," before shoving his pants down, his cock springing free—long, not overly thick, but enough to make you remember the first time he’d stretched you open, how overwhelmed you’d been by his length.

"You’re going in already?" you breathed, voice trembling.

He only nodded, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing your entrance. "Do you want me to fill you?" he purred. "Beg for it."

"P-please," you whimpered, trying to pull him inside, but he pinned your hands above your head. "Beg more," he demanded, voice cruel.

Your breath hitched. "Fuck me, please—"

"Better." Before the words were even fully out of your mouth, he buried himself inside you in one deep thrust. A cry tore from your throat as pleasure surged through you. His hands roamed your body, pinching and stroking until you were right back on the edge. He pounded into you with rough, relentless strokes, groaning as your walls clenched around him. "Fuck—why are you so tight?" he growled, driving deeper, chasing your pleasure.

You could feel yourself unraveling again. "I—I’m close—" you gasped, but before you could finish, your orgasm crashed over you, your release spilling between you. He kissed your temple softly before collapsing beside you, murmuring, "You have the best cunt, sweet sister." Then, as if nothing had happened, he added, "Good night."

Your body still hummed with overstimulation, but you curled against him, your head resting on his chest. You snuggled closer, your breathing slowing as sleep pulled you under.

The morning sun hit the Red Keep's outer yard, but no amount of daylight could wash away the lingering tension from the night before.

You stood in the shadow of the covered gallery, looking down at the courtyard where the vanguard from the Stormlands had just arrived. True to your father's word, Ser Gwayne Serrett was at the front. He looked exactly like the songs described a perfect knight—tall, broad-shouldered, with golden-brown hair and armor that gleamed flawlessly under the sun.

As Prince Maekar welcomed the lords, Ser Gwayne’s eyes scanned the balconies until they finally landed on you. A handsome, confident smile spread across his face. He detached himself from the crowd and began walking up the stone steps toward your gallery with a graceful, measured stride.

"Princess," Ser Gwayne spoke, bowing deeply before you, his voice smooth and rich. When he straightened up, his hazel eyes locked onto yours with clear admiration. "The rumors of your beauty do no justice to the reality. It is the greatest honor of my journey to finally meet you."

Your heart did a nervous flutter—not out of affection, but out of sheer anxiety. You could practically feel the air around you turning cold. "Thank you, Ser Gwayne. You are most welcome in King's Landing."

Ser Gwayne stepped a fraction closer, offering a gloved hand. "Your father mentioned you enjoy the royal gardens. If the Princess would allow it, I would be privileged to escort you for a walk after the midday bells."

Before you could even think of a polite way to decline, a heavy, dark shadow loomed over the top of the stairs.

"She is busy after the midday bells."

The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Aerion stepped into the light of the gallery. He wasn't wearing his formal court clothes; he was in full steel armor, minus his helmet, with his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. His silver-gold hair fell wildly around his face, and his violet eyes were narrowed into two dangerous, mocking slits.

Ser Gwayne blinked, surprised by the sudden intrusion, but quickly recovered his courtly manners. "Prince Aerion. A pleasure to—"

"Save your breath, ser," Aerion cut him off ruthlessly, stepping right between you and the knight. He didn't just stand there; he deliberately forced Gwayne to step back, dominating the space. Aerion tilted his chin up, staring down at the knight with absolute disdain. "My sister does not take walks with foreign knights. Her time belongs to the crown. To me."

Ser Gwayne’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening slightly at the blatant disrespect. "I meant no offense, Prince Aerion. It was a simple request, approved by Prince Maekar himself."

"My father rules the realm, but he does not rule her," Aerion hissed, taking a slow, menacing step forward until he was mere inches from Gwayne’s face. The raw aura of madness and violence from the night before was radiating from him again. "You smell of dust and horses, Ser Gwayne. I suggest you go wash the dirt of the Stormlands off your skin before you think about placing your eyes on a dragon."

"Erri, please," you whispered frantically from behind him, gently tugging at the back of his heavy cloak, begging him not to start a brawl in broad daylight.

Hearing your voice, Aerion didn't back down, but his hand left his sword to roughly grab your arm, pulling you tightly against his armored side in a harsh, indisputable claim of ownership. He shot one last, deadly glare at Ser Gwayne.

"If I see you hovering around her balcony again," Aerion whispered to the knight, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying promise, "I won't just reject your courtship, ser. I will slide my blade through your throat and watch you bleed out on these very stones."

Without waiting for Gwayne’s response, Aerion turned on his heel and dragged you away through the corridor, his grip firm and unyielding, leaving a stunned and insulted knight standing alone in the yard.

The iron grip around your waist didn't loosen until Aerion had dragged you far away from the bustling courtyard, deep into the quiet, shaded paths of the Red Keep’s Godswood. Here, the air was cool, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the only sound was the distant cawing of ravens.

Aerion finally let you go, spinning you around to face him beneath the ancient weirwood tree. His armored chest was heaving, and his silver-gold hair fell wildly over his forehead. He didn't say a word at first; he just stared at you, his violet eyes raking over your face before locking onto your still-flushed cheeks.

"Your face is red," Aerion noted, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl that cut through the silence of the garden. "He touched you, didn't he?"

"Erri, no! He was just introducing himself properly," you lied quickly, backing up until your spine pressed against the rough, white bark of the weirwood tree. Your heart was hammering wildly against your ribs.

"Do not lie to me!" Aerion snapped, slamming his hand against the tree trunk right beside your head, effectively trapping you between his armored body and the ancient wood. The heavy steel of his gauntlet made a dull thud. He leaned in so close you could see the dark, manic fire dancing in his pupils. "I saw the way he looked at you. Like a dog staring at a piece of meat. And you... you let him whisper his country nonsense in your ear."

"I couldn't just walk away, he is a guest of our father!" you pleaded, your voice trembling as you reached out, placing your small hands against his cold chest armor to keep some distance between you. "You are making a scene out of nothing."

"Nothing?" Aerion let out a harsh, bitter scoff. He reached up, his bare, calloused hand firmly catching both of your wrists in a single grip, pinning them gently but unyieldingly against his chest. With his free hand, he cupped your jaw, his thumb wiping across your bottom lip with a bruising pressure. "You are my twin. The other half of my soul. Every blush on your face, every breath you take, belongs to me. I will not have some secondary lord from the Stormlands smelling your perfume."

"Erri, please... someone might see us out here," you murmured, your eyes darting nervously toward the garden paths, though the thrill of his dangerous closeness was making your head spin.

"Let them look," Aerion whispered darkly, his gaze dropping to your lips. The raw, violent anger in his expression suddenly shifted into that familiar, desperate hunger. "Let them see what happens to anyone who dares to dream of what is mine."

He didn't give you a chance to argue. Aerion leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss right there under the canopy of red leaves. It wasn't the soft kiss of a courtly knight; it was the hungry, possessive claim of a dragon—tasting of unspoken threats and fierce devotion. Your back was pressed hard against the ancient tree, and as his free arm wrapped tightly around your waist to pull you flush against his armor, you couldn't help but melt into his touch, completely consumed by the dangerous fire that only he could spark.

The banners of House Serrett faded into the distance as the vanguard finally marched out of the King's Landing gates, returning to the Stormlands. Ser Gwayne didn't even look back. After the silent, deadly threats from Aerion in the Godswood—and the constant, terrifying glares in the Great Hall—the noble knight and his father finally realized that pursuing the Princess was a quick way to a silver coffin.

Inside the Small Council chamber, the air was heavy. Prince Maekar sat at the grand table, his face looking older, etched with deep lines of exhaustion. You stood quietly near the window, your fingers trembling slightly, while Aerion stood right beside you, his stance tall, proud, and completely unbothered by the chaos he had caused.

"They are gone," Maekar spoke, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room. He rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Lord Serrett has officially withdrawn his son's courtship. He claims the capital is... too volatile for his house."

Aerion let out a low, arrogant scoff. "A wise choice for a coward."

"Silence, Aerion!" Maekar roared, slamming his hand on the table as he stood up. His furious eyes locked onto his son. "You insulted a high lord, you threatened his son, and you made it impossible for any noble house in the Seven Kingdoms to look at your sister without fearing for their lives! You have ruined every political alliance I tried to build for her!"

"Good," Aerion replied ruthlessly, stepping forward to shield you halfway behind his broad shoulders. His violet eyes burned with that familiar, untamed fire. "I told you before, Father. She does not belong to the Stormlands, nor the Reach, nor the North. She is a dragon. She belongs here, with the blood of the dragon. With me."

Maekar stared at Aerion for a long, suffocating moment. He looked at Aerion's fierce, unyielding protectiveness, and then his gaze shifted to you—seeing the way your small hand was instinctively gripping the edge of Aerion's cloak, finding safety only in his twin brother's dangerous shadow.

Maekar realized then that no matter how many lords he brought to court, Aerion would simply burn the world down before letting anyone else touch you. And you would always melt into his fire.

"The Faith will scream," Maekar muttered darkly, his shoulders finally dropping in complete defeat. "The High Septon will call it an abomination, and the court will whisper behind our backs."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Aerion froze, his jaw tightening. "Father...?" you whispered softly.

Maekar looked away, staring out at the Red Keep's courtyard. "If I cannot marry you to a lord without starting a war in my own house... then so be it. Prepare the ravens. Announce to the realm that Princess y/n will be wed to her twin brother, Prince Aerion Targaryen, before the next moon."

The words felt like a sudden rush of warmth. You gasped softly, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

Aerion turned to you instantly. The dark, manic fury that usually masked his face vanished completely, replaced by a pure, triumphant smile that made him look breathtakingly handsome. He didn't care that your father was still in the room. He reached out, his long fingers cupping your cheeks as he pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours.

"I told you, sweet sister," Aerion whispered, his voice trembling with a rare, deep emotion as his eyes locked onto yours. "The world can scream all they want. You are mine. From the womb to the grave... you are mine."

He leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss—no longer hungry with jealousy, but filled with the fierce, absolute victory of a dragon who had finally secured his treasure for eternity.