[goldandcinders]

For too long, women have feared their own fire—mistaking it for madness, for sin, for excess. But the fire is the power of the feminine soul.

IND. SEL. ASOIAF MULTIMUSE | EST MAY 2026

AS LOVED BY GRACIE (follows from @meloraan)

heavily affiliated with: @knightcrowned, @drunkdreamer, @theclimbisallthereis & @ofdragonfireandblood

Rules | Carrd | Artwork | Memes | Open Starters | Wishlist | Promo Credit

[goldandcinders]

Something something feudal lord and handmaiden discourse for aure and shaenora

wait this is so cute | accepting! | @woventapestries

“Please fill out that top left hand box, Shaenora, and claim your second bingo.”

[goldandcinders]

he's not. doing AS well lmao.

i am actively wheezing | accepting! | @zobrizys

“There’s some kind of snarky commentary at me sweeping his bingo but him not even getting one on mine, right?”

[goldandcinders]

A Midsummer Night's Dream Prompt: "And though she be but little, she is fierce."

Preteen Auri and Aeri. ^^ So this rp could fall anywhere between 200 AC (9) to 203 (12) for our cousin twins, haha.

By this time, Aerion's mother had long been gone. Festives, hell the world itself, lost their color without her striking energy. Still, his father insisted on holding them, if only to maintain the barest appearance. Even then, his father seemed preoccupied with being a shadow under Uncle Baelor.

Aerion was a bit of a busybody either roaming with Daeron, pestering his younger siblings rather than tending to them, or chatting other children and adults with eyes they hadn't kept to themselves.

Presently he was mindnumbingly bored by the boys chattering around him about the usual trivialities. Aerion feigned interest only to appear the better of them but of course his attention already slipped elsewhere.

Aerion's lilac eyes sharpened with curiosity when he noticed Auriel being courted by some hapless novice who clearly had no idea how his darling cousin operated. Aerion would brush off, snark, or tease the boys comments idly, to continue his feigned role.

Ooh. He knew precisely how this would end. The novice cast as the perpetrator and Auriel the innocent damsel. Humans were forever forgetting she was made of fire. Just utterly ridiculous. Aerion was far from the emotional type, so he found their torment amusing.

A smirk remained twitching at the corner of his mouth waiting for it to happen, pretending to remain engaged in his current affairs. The inevitable disaster bound to go up in flames.

// @ask-aerion-brightflame

midsummer nights dream | accepting! | @ask-aerion-brightflame / @rapturok | oops this turned into a mini drabble sorry not sorry. read more due to length.

Though Prince Baelor’s only daughter had celebrated her twelfth name day scarcely a few weeks past, suitors had already begun to gather like flies around honey, each one eager to try his hand at wooing the technically now eligible princess. And Auriel wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of them.

She found the entire matter offensive. Not frightening, not flattering, not even particularly interesting, simply offensive. It was as though the moment the bells had rung for her name day celebrations, she had ceased being herself and become some prize to be inspected, praised, bargained for, and eventually claimed. Men who had paid her no mind when she was eleven now bowed just a hair deeper than before. Their fathers smiled too warmly at Prince Baelor and their mothers took careful measure of her gowns, her posture, and her manners; calculating what sort of wife she might one day make. Auriel hated it.

The feasts had grown worse for it. Once, she had loved the ambiance of court. The lovely silk banners of Targaryen red and black, the gleam of candlelight on polished cups, the music spilling from the gallery, the laughter rising and falling like waves at Blackwater Bay. Now every dance seemed to come with a hand offered by some lordling who imagined himself gallant. Every cup of watered wine arrived with a compliment. Every quiet corner became a trap.

They bored her. Worse, they offended her. Some were ugly in the face, with soft, wet mouths and eyes that wandered upon her too freely. Some were twice her age and looked upon her as though she were the finest dish to be served at that evening’s feast. Others were handsome enough in the way painted shields were handsome, bright and polished but entirely hollow beneath. And then there were the ones who might have been tolerable, had they not opened their mouths and proved their souls far uglier than their features. She found them all horrid in one fashion or another, and with each passing day, her patience frayed thinner.

On occasion, she managed to escape them.

She had become rather skilled at it, quite frankly. A neat curtsy with a sweet smile when she was feeling particularly kind. She would claim she had promised a dance to Valarr, or that Matarys had called for her, or that her cousin had been searching for her all evening. Sometimes she invoked her mother, which worked best of all; few men were brave enough to contradict a princess when she claimed a maternal summons. Then, before they could protest or attempt to follow, Auriel would slip away between courtiers and silks and jeweled sleeves like a silver dragon hatchling vanishing into the smokey air.

Most times, however, they ended like this.

With some puffed-up lordling standing before her, droning on and on with all the confidence of a man who had never once been told he was dull. He was not the worst of them, she supposed, though that was hardly a compliment. He was young enough not to disgust her on sight, but old enough to think himself terribly impressive. His doublet was a deep green velvet embroidered with gold thread, no doubt chosen to make his eyes look brighter. It did not. His hair had been oiled and combed with great care, though one curl kept falling across his brow, and he flicked it back each time as though the motion might charm her. It did not.

Auriel stood before him with her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture perfect, chin lifted, expression composed into the precise look expected of a princess. The picture of courtesy. Inside, she was imagining pushing him into the nearest fountain and laughing cruelly as his ugly clothing got soaked.

He spoke of beauty first, because they always did. Then dragons, because they all thought that terribly clever when speaking to a Targaryen. Then stars, then songs, then some tedious comparison between her eyes and amethysts that made her want to roll them so harshly it gave her a headache. He had clearly borrowed most of the sentiment from better men’s poetry and arranged it poorly, like a child stacking their wooden blocks too high and expecting applause from everyone around them as they fell down from poor construction.

Around them, the feast continued on in careless motion. Music drifted down from the gallery. Servants moved between tables with flagons of wine. Somewhere nearby, a group of ladies laughed behind their sleeves, though whether at Auriel’s trapped expression or the lordling’s performance, she could not tell. A few older lords watched with open interest, likely weighing the exchange for signs of favor. That only irritated her further. When at last the lordling finished, no doubt expecting her to blush, simper, or praise him for his efforts, Auriel merely tilted her head. For one long, terrible moment, she said nothing at all, letting the silence stretched until it was uncomfortable for them both and his smile faltered.

“Hm,” Auriel said at last. “You speak with the confidence of a much taller man.”

The lordling blinked as someone nearby choked softly into their cup. Auriel’s smile was small, pretty, and completely merciless.

“Go back to your little castle and tell your lord father that you failed. I have heard court jesters recite better poetry than that, and at least they possess the decency to know when they are being ridiculous.”

Color flooded his face, first pink, then red, then a blotchy, ugly shade that clashed horribly with his green velvet. His mouth opened, then shut again. For all his many, many words only a moment before, he seemed to have misplaced every last one of them. Good. Auriel did not wait for a response.

Without so much as another glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, her skirts swishing across the floor behind her. The movement was graceful and unhurried. A princess did not flee, of course. A princess withdrew and left the destruction politely in her wake.

She could feel eyes following her as she crossed the hall. Some amused, some scandalized, some disapproving. Let them stare. She was a Targaryen, they always stared. They had stared when she was too quiet, when she was too loud, when she laughed, when she scowled, when she danced with her brothers instead of strangers. Court made a feast of everything.

Across the room, deep violet eyes caught upon a familiar shade of lilac, and finally she felt relief. Her cousin was leaning near one of the carved pillars, looking far too entertained for her liking nearby some group of boys. He had clearly seen the entire exchange. Better, judging by the curve of his mouth, he had enjoyed it. Auriel made her way to him with the air of someone returning from a very tiresome battle, her chin still lifted, though now there was something distinctly smug in the set of her mouth.

“And though she be but little, she is fierce,” he remarked.

Auriel smirked and leaned against his side as though she had not just publicly flayed a lordling with nothing more than a few pretty words. Near him, at least, she did not have to pretend quite so hard. She could let her shoulders loosen, could allow the sharpness in her eyes to become mischief rather than mere defense.

“He wished to toy with the dragon,” she said lightly, smoothing one hand over the front of her gown. “One must assume they may get burned in the process.”

[goldandcinders]

(Papa and Auriel) “And though she be but little, she is fierce.”

midsummer nights dream | accepting! | @knightcrowned

“That’s because I’m a dragon! Rawr!”

Auriel yelled the word out with all the ferocity a four year old princess could manage, which was to say, quite a lot. Her tiny feet were tucked into the makeshift corner pockets one of the servants had sewn into the blanket for her, while her hands clutched the upper corners tight. When she lifted her arms, the fabric stretched behind her like the great wings of the dragons before her. Or at least, she was quite certain they were great wings.

With a shriek of delight, she went racing across the courtyard, silver hair bouncing around her face and falling out of her braids. The blanket billowed behind her in dramatic flutters as she darted past a startled septon, narrowly avoiding knocking over a potted orange tree, and made a bee-line directly for her kepa.

“I’m the dragon Syrax!” she declared, “and I am mighty!”

Then, with complete faith that her kepa would catch her — because fathers always did and because dragons feared absolutely nothing — the little princess dragon launched herself at him, blanket wings spread wide and violet eyes bright with triumph at her sure victory.

[goldandcinders]

(Donnel and Auriel) “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

a midsummer night dream | accepting! | @knightcrowned

“No, it did not,” Auriel murmured.

Her voice was so quiet, let out as barely more than breath, so that any passing courtier might think she was speaking only to herself. She did not look at Ser Donnel as she said it, she couldn’t. Instead, her gaze remained transfixed across the courtyard, where her daughter, Alysanne, ran laughing across the cobblestone, her auburn hair slipping loose from its ribbons, and her skirts swishing around her ankles as though there was no sorrow in the world.

The sight should have warmed her heart. In some ways, it did. Alysanne was nearing her sixth nameday now, bright, wild, and beautiful, growing taller by the week and looking more like her father with every passing year. The shape of her smile, the set of her eyes, even the lift of her chin when she was displeased, all of it was his. It was so clearly his that it made Auriel’s chest hurt to look at her for too long; not that anyone could ever know.

To the world, Auriel claimed her daughter had inherited those features from her own mother, Jena. A convenient resemblance with a harmless explanation. A lie that had been repeated with such certainty that others had begun to say it back to her, as though they had always believed it themselves. It was safer that way. No one could know the truth of Alysanne’s father and no one ever would.

They had been fortunate, she thought, at least, more than others may have been. Auriel had been permitted to remain within the Red Keep with her daughter as she grew up. Ser Donnel had never been named as the father, never publicly accused by anyone, and never dragged before the king to answer for his crime or stripped of his white cloak. He had kept his honor in the eyes of the realm, his place among the Kingsguard, and his life. Yet, sometimes, Auriel wondered which fate would have been crueler. Exile to the Wall, the executioner’s block, or this. Standing close enough to watch one’s child grow, to hear them laugh, to see them fall and rise and learn about the world around them, all while being forbidden to claim her. Forbidden to comfort her. Forbidden to love her as anything more than a distant, watchful shadow.

Alysanne shrieked with delight as one of the other children chased her past the fountain and Auriel’s stoicism softened despite herself, but only for a moment, before she remembered where they were.

“We should not be speaking like this in public, Ser,” she said at last, her eyes still set on their daughter. Their daughter. Even if the words could only ever exist in the privacy of her own mind. “There have already been enough ugly rumors from courtiers with too much wine, too little honor, and far too much boldness.”

[rpmemes-galore]

a midsummer night's dream ... sentence starters

"Do I entice you?"

"Do not haunt me."

"I will not trust you."

"My soul is in the sky."

"Take pains. Be perfect."

"There will I stay for thee."

"I am feared in field in town."

"Why is your cheek so pale?"

"Are you sure that we are awake?"

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"

"I must employ you in some business."

"But you must flout my insufficiency?"

"Give me your hands, if we be friends."

"I am that merry wanderer of the night."

"I frown upon him, yet he loves me still."

"I give him curses, yet he gives me love."

"Methought I was enamoured of an ass."

"Who will not change a raven for a dove?"

"My legs are longer though, to run away."

"Full of vexation come I, with complaint."

"I must confess that I have heard so much."

"The wildest hath not such a heart as you."

"And though she be but little, she is fierce."

"I know not by what power I am made bold."

"So quick bright things come to confusion."

"Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth."

"To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyes?"

"One sees more devils than vast hell can hold."

"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?"

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

"Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd."

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains."

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind."

"How can these things in me seem scorn to you?"

"You juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!"

"I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done."

"Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere."

"I will roar that I will do any man's heart good to hear me."

"Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming!"

"To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays."

"I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well."

"For you, in my respect, are all the world. Then how can it be said I am alone When all the world is here to look on me?"

[coxgitando]

Shipping Call - Send me one if you want to plot one or more of these

💚 - friendship 💙 - kinship ( blood or symbolic familial bond ) 💔 - past relationship 💜 - hateship ( they hate each other but can’t stay away ) 💛 - hateship ( enemies ) 💟 - friends with benefits ❤ - romantic relationship

[goldandcinders]

auriel targaryen — scent profile

[rpmemes-galore]

the others ... sentence starters

"They're dead."

"We're not dead!"

"This house is ours."

"The war is not over."

"Sometimes I bleed."

"You look so different."

"Is that how she killed you?"

"There are no intruders here."

"Don't trouble yourself, ma'am."

"They're ghosts! Come over here!"

"If you see a ghost, you say 'hello'."

"Sooner or later, they will find you."

"I'm not talking about the ghosts..."

"Well, you shouldn't have come, then."

"No one can make us leave this house."

"You listen to me... I've seen them, too."

"Interesting? I was scared out of my wits!"

"Why didn't you stay like the others did?"

"That's enough questions. Eat your food."

"Can't you hear it? There's someone there."

"Stop breathing like that. Stop … breathing."

"We all surrendered, what did you expect?"

"You're not going. You left us once already…"

"No crying now. No crying. Stop that. Here."

"I loved you, but that wasn't enough, was it?"

"I don't care what I said! Get away from them!"

"The intruders are leaving, but others will come."

"They're everywhere… they say this house is theirs."

"Look what an awful face you've got when you cry."

"I'm beginning to feel totally cut off from the world."

"There are things your mother doesn't want to hear."

"I won't ask for forgiveness for something I didn't do!"

"Sometimes we'll sense them. Other times, we won't."

"You're always teasing me and telling lies… I'm sick of it!"

"If you're dead, then leave us in peace. Leave us in peace!"

"I have noticed, there's no need for you to raise your voice."

"How do you know who the 'goodies' and the 'baddies' are?"

"Tuberculosis finished us off, more than half a century ago."

"We must all learn to live together. The living and the dead."

"Why don't you tell my mother? Then maybe she'll believe me."

"It is quite clear that these 'beings' do not want us to live here."

"Yes, but that was before. The condition could have cleared up."

"Where's my daughter? What have you done with my daughter?"

"Death of a loved one can lead people to do the strangest things."

"Who do you think you are! You have no idea what has to be done!"

"What's the matter with me? I don't know what's the matter with me."

"The only thing that moves here is the light, but it changes everything."

"I thought the Lord, in his great mercy, was giving me another chance…"

"There are going to be some big surprises. There are going to be… changes."

"Sometimes the world of the living gets mixed up with the world of the dead."

"I'm no wiser than you are. But I do know that I love you. I've always loved you."

"She only believes in what she was taught. But don't worry. Sooner or later, she'll see them. And everything will be different."

[whiterabbitswool]

[rosewatertear]

where is my tall brown haired dream boy and is he thinking of me

[dragonmaester]

Daeron watched her nimble fingers untie his trousers and the expectation of her touch alone, of her taking the lead, made his heart beat faster in his chest and his breath hitch.

He saw the lust in her eyes and it mirrored his own perfectly.

When she finally touched his cock, he moaned, and unable to control himself any further, Daeron pressed into her hand desperately.

"I need you more than I need air to breathe. I desire you more than anything in the world. I want you and only you, my wife."

The words fell from his lips in between ragged breaths. And the drawl in his speech suggested how hard it was to speak when she decked his chest in kisses and touched him like this.

"Please," he begged. "Take what you need from me. Mark me as yours."

[goldandcinders]

“As you wish, husband.”

Her kisses grew rougher then, all tenderness slipping away to something far more possessive at his behest. Sharp teeth grazed and nipped at his skin, leaving a trail of reddened marks in their wake as she worked her way across his chest and up the line of his throat. Each scrape drew another bruise to the surface, purple and crimson blooms spreading across pale flesh like evidence of her devotion to him and her claim. A physical reminder of just who held his heart.

All the while, her hand remained wrapped around his cock, stroking him, encouraging his rutting against her as he chased the friction she provided. By the time she finally relented, his skin was littered with bite marks and bruises, a map of her affection drawn across his body. Satisfied with her work, she slid her hands to his shoulders and gently urged him downward until he was seated upon the floor.

She could not bear to wait any longer. Every passing second felt unbearable now, stretched thin by anticipation and desire. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she looked down at him, breath heavy and uneven. She intended to take her husband then and there, and not even the seven Gods themselves could have convinced her otherwise.

[dragonmaester]

Daeron loved nothing more than her possessive marking of his skin. He moaned shamelessly, enjoying her bites and deep kisses. Each bruise was testimony to her claim on him. And he wanted everyone to see that he belonged to her alone. She held his heart and his body both.

When she had littered him thoroughly enough with hickies and bite marks, she made him sit on the floor. Her ministrations had left him hard and ready for her and Daeron looked up at her pleadingly. He needed her now, Wanted nothing more than for her to lowerherself on his cock and sit in his lap. His hands reached up and under her skirts, making quick work with her small clothes and he pulled down what garment still separated them so she could step out of them.

"I need you," he groaned. "Please..." And he guided her down towards himself.

[goldandcinders]

Her breath came heavy and uneven as she looked down at her husband, desire darkening her violet eyes. When he drew her smallclothes down over her hips, she stepped out of them slowly, letting the discarded fabric fall before kicking it aside without a second thought. Then she sank to her knees over his lap, gathering her skirts in both hands and drawing them up around her hips so nothing stood between them. For a moment, she only hovered there above him, trembling with anticipation, her gaze fixed on his face, wishing to remember every flicker of want that crossed it.

At last, she reached between them and guided him to her, dragging his cock between her wet folds with a shudder before positioning him at her entrance. Her eyes lifted to his, dark violet meeting pale light, before she began to ease herself down. The first slow stretch stole a moan from her lips and her head tipped back for half a breath before she caught herself, looking at him again as she took him in, savoring every single inch. By the time she had settled fully into his lap, her skirts were bunched around her waist, her hands were braced against his shoulders, and her breath had turned ragged.

“Fuck…Daeron…” She breathed out, resting her forehead against his. “You feel wonderful…”

[goldandcinders]

headcanon — “septa” seral’s glamour

Seral's glamour is not an illusion in the usual sense nor is it a simple trick of the eyes. It is an ancient magic, woven from the same forces that shaped her existence long before the seven kingdoms were established. To most people, her disguise is perfect and their minds simply accept what they are meant to see, ignoring any inconsistencies and never questioning them.

But, there are those who can obtain the ability to see through it.

Those dedicated to the Stranger often possess a sensitivity to see through to Seral's true nature. Death recognizes death, after all. Though Seral is not a servant of the Stranger, she exists in close proximity to the same mysteries that surround the god's domain; mortality, endings, and the unseen boundary between the living world and whatever lies beyond. Those who have devoted themselves to the Stranger and have spent years contemplating death's higher mysteries may notice small cracks in her glamour if they pay close enough attention. Perhaps a face that seems slightly different when viewed from the corner of the eye or specific features that refuse to remain fixed in memory. An unsettling sense that something ancient is staring back at them from behind a mortal mask.

Most would dismiss such sensations as imagination, but the truly devout do not.

The same is true for the followers of the Old Gods, but for different reasons. Seral predates the coming of the Andals and the Faith of the Seven. She is a relic of a far older world and the magic that she wields resonates on a similar wavelength to the power of the Old Gods themselves. It is not identical, no, but it is very similar.

Those devoted to the Old Gods often find Seral's glamour strangely…transparent. Their eyes catch details others often overlook. They may glimpse her true face reflected in a pool of still water, see a second shadow where none should exist, or instinctively recognize that the woman before them is far older than any human being could be.

Neither group can see through her glamour automatically however. It requires awareness and a willingness to trust what their instincts are telling them. Many notice only occasional oddities that their mind simply tells them to let go of. Some convince themselves they imagined it. But those who spend enough time around Seral or those who possess a particularly strong connection to death or the old magics of the world, eventually come to the same unsettling realization:

The woman standing before them is not entirely human and whatever she actually is, she has been walking this world for a very, very long time.

[goldandcinders]

eye color chart | idea stolen from: @knightcrowned

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@goldandcinders | continued from here

"I fear I've slept enough."

Valarr's recollection is...shaky at best. He remembers the tourney of course, remembers all the strife with young Aegon vanishing and then being found again. Remembers his cousin's vile behaviour, and the call for a trial of seven, remembers deciding to join. But then...nothing. If he strains, he can just about remember Matarys helping him to don his armour, but after that it's all just blank. His siblings have filled him in, but no matter how he tries, he can't recall the trial itself, can't recall his uncle's mace connecting with the back of his head, can't remember Ser Duncan winning, and he certainly can't recall making it back to his tent, only to collapse before his baby brother.

He's been unconscious for some time, or so they tell him, but Auriel and Matarys have been glued to his side the whole time. Indeed, he's rather sure Matarys still would be, had it not been for the servant who had carried him off to his own chambers. Which leaves simply him and his sister, together in the quiet. They've not been as close of late as they had once been, and such a thought makes him rather sad. But still he can feel her hand on his, clutching tight like she might never let go.

"Besides, I am resting. I've barely even moved," the young prince muses. He is a little tired, admittedly, but he suspects that is more due to his recovery, as opposed to how long he's been awake. The maesters might scold him, but he doesn't wish to sleep just yet. Not when he's already missed so much, when he's still trying to wrap his (rather sore) head around everything that's happened.

[goldandcinders]

“It’s nearing midnight, brother. The maesters will not be pleased when they wake to find you have spent the entire night awake, even if you are not moving.”

Auriel’s voice was gentle but firm as she continued to stroke her thumb across the back of his hand. Still, she refused to meet his eyes. How could she?

It was easier when he slept. Easier when he could not see the grief that threatened to crack her carefully maintained composure or the anguish she kept buried beneath layers of duty. Though the bandages had long since been removed from his head, the memory remained as vivid as the day it happened. Every time she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye, she saw it all over again—the pale face, the blood, the sight of him lying motionless upon the maester’s cot. So she kept her gaze fixed elsewhere.

If she did not look directly at him, it was easier to pretend she was untouched by it all. Easier to hide behind the mask she had spent a lifetime perfecting; one that she used to let slip around her elder brother, though that seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured softly. “And all will be well.” Her fingers tightened ever so slightly around his hand before relaxing once more.

“Do not fret about me.”

[alyafae]

“One might think you missed me, wife.” Corlys chuckled as he caught Auriel in his arms when she threw herself at him. He had returned home four days before his expected return. While he had thought about sending her a raven to inform her about his return, he decided to leave her in the dark and surprise her instead. Corlys kissed her passionately, having been gone for a little less than two weeks, he found that he had missed this far too much. “Did you behave in my absence? I see you did not drown Driftmark yet,” he teased her, smirking at her.

@goldandcinders asked for corlys and aure

[goldandcinders]

“Me? Miss you? Never in a million years, husband.”

Yet, the moment she caught sight of her husband standing in the doorway of their chambers four days before he was meant to return, the princess was on her feet in an instant.

With a delighted gasp, she crossed the room and threw her arms around his neck, nearly colliding with him in her haste as she pulled him close. For all her complaints whenever he was gone too long—and there were always complaints—she adored these reunions more than she would ever speak aloud. There was something intoxicating about being missed; seeing it written plainly across his face before he ever spoke a word.

A pleased sigh escaped when he kissed her, familiar and warm after days apart. The scent of salt and open sea clung stubbornly to him, woven into every layer of his clothing and skin, carrying with it memories of distant shores and restless waters. Gods, she loved that scent. When they finally parted, she stayed close, her hands still resting at the back of his neck as violet eyes sparkled up at him.

“Come now,” she teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You know me. When have I ever behaved? The drowning of Driftmark was planned for tomorrow, of course.”