"But there is one thing we desire more than each other," she whispered. Her lips brushed his, barely a touch, light as breath. A provocation. "Power." Eleanor Tyrell was not kind. No one ever dared to question that and one had to be a fool to see gentleness where there was none at all. She did not conceal her cruelty, nor her pride. In fact, she thought it suited her. When Prince Maekar tried to wed his son Aerion in a desperate attempt to tame him, Lord Leo Tyrell didn't hesitate to secure that match for his own daughter, hoping it would tame her just the same. It didn't. Aerion and Eleanor were like flame to flame, igniting a wildfire, leaving nothing but destruction in their way. A match made in hell. The hunger for power ignited something inside of them, consuming both until there was nothing left of them anymore. Just death. || Aerion Targaryen X OC (A little Daeron) ||

❝my king, as was always meant to be...❞ The year 190 AC, six years into the reign of King Daeron II, six years since the mess King Aegon the Unworthy had left behind. Six years since the Good King had cleaned up the realm with the best of his abilities. It was also time for his son, his heir to find himself a bride. A bride that would not only ensure the strength of the Targaryen Legacy, but ensure the ever changing favors of Lords and Ladies remain on their side, whatever means necessary.

Rhae stands where the world feared to tread. Aerion kneels only to her, loving her with teeth and fire, willing to slaughter anyone who dares stand between them.

They call Lady Mirella cold. She does not smile for court, does not flatter, does not pretend. In a world that rewards softness, she chooses restraint. She loves fiercely, disciplines sharply, and refuses to perform for men who mistake silence for weakness. But as her children grow into legends - and something darker - Mirella learns that control is an illusion, and fire does not care how steady your hands are. Power has never been controlled.