@sigilsongs / @sigilsins asked: a hoarse whisper from braeden whitfyre; "kiss me"
Rhaenyra stood still, her breath catching as Braeden request filled the space between them. “Kiss me,” he had said, his voice low but certain, carrying the weight of a challenge. The initial urge to deny his request simmered in her chest, the reflex of a Queen who had grown accustomed to guarding herself, her heart, from the world that had only sought to take from her.
Her violet eyes met his, searching for some trace of deceit, of hidden motives. But instead, she found an unexpected familiarity, a comfort she had not known she craved. It unsettled her to think of it—that he could make her feel this way. Braeden was not all North, after all; there was something about him that spoke of old Valyria, a trace of her own bloodline threading through his veins. It was as if the North and Valyria had converged in him, a flame tempered by ice.
She knew the cold of grief too well, the sharp sting of war and loss, and the endless, echoing ache of the loved ones she could no longer hold. For so long, she had carried that chill, an armor that even dragonfire could not thaw. And now, in the presence of this northern man with a hint of dragon in his heritage, Rhaenyra felt a new desire—to forget, even if only for a moment.
Slowly, she stepped forward, her defenses crumbling like ice in the warmth of dawn. She tilted her head, and his lips became the instrument for her fleeting escape, the taste of solace she was so desperately craving. As she closed the distance, she allowed herself to give in, her grief momentarily eclipsed by something achingly, desperately alive. Hands hold to sides of his cloak, pulling the man down to deepen the kiss, breathing him in before her mouth opens in request for him to take.
