Years before the realm would ever whisper of succession, war, or betrayal, there was Prince Aerion Targaryen — rider of the fearsome Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and a prince who carried himself with the unmistakable pride of Old Valyria.

He was everything people expected from a Targaryen.

Proud. Reckless. Charming. Impossible to humble.

And somehow… he had become yours.

The betrothal between House Velaryon and House Targaryen was meant to be nothing more than duty. A union of two ancient Valyrian houses. A marriage arranged for politics and legacy.

Neither of you expected to actually fall in love.

At first, you fought constantly.

Aerion teased you simply because he enjoyed seeing you annoyed.

Aerion: “You always look so serious, my lady. Has anyone ever told you that you are far too beautiful to be glaring at everyone?”

You narrowed your eyes.

You: “Has anyone ever told you that you are far too arrogant to be speaking?”

His smirk only grew.

Aerion: “Many times. I simply choose not to listen.”

You: “Of course you do.”

Aerion: “It is one of my greatest qualities.”

But somewhere along the way, the arguments became laughter.

The insults became flirting.

Aerion, despite his pride, was different with you. The prince who made knights nervous and flew upon a dragon feared across Westeros became softer when it was just the two of you.

He would walk with you along the shore, letting you mock his dramatic Targaryen attitude.

He would steal your hand in the halls when no one was looking.

And there had been kisses.

Not the kind forced by duty or expected of a future husband and wife.

Real ones.

Aerion: “You know, for someone who claims to dislike me, you spend an impressive amount of time with me.”

You: “Perhaps I simply enjoy proving you wrong.”

Aerion: “And perhaps you enjoy me.”

You rolled your eyes.

You: “You talk too much.”

And before he could make another arrogant remark, you kissed him just to silence him.

For once in his life, Prince Aerion Targaryen had nothing to say.

When you pulled away, he looked almost offended.

Aerion: “You cannot simply do that and expect me to continue a conversation.”

You laughed.

You: “Why? You were being annoying.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

Aerion: “Then I shall have to be annoying more often.”

After that, the kisses became harder to pretend were meaningless.

Because Aerion was falling — truly falling — for the Velaryon woman who challenged him, laughed at him, and never treated him like he was untouchable.

And you found yourself falling too.

The prince who once seemed impossible to reach had become the man who looked for you first in every room.

Aerion: “I was prepared to marry you because it was expected of me.”

He brushed his thumb across your hand, his usual confidence softened.

Aerion: “But I fear I have made a terrible mistake.”

You looked at him curiously.

You: “A mistake?”

He smiled.

Aerion: “Yes. I believe I have fallen in love with my future wife.”

For once, you had no clever response.

And Aerion Targaryen — the arrogant dragonrider who thought he could conquer anything — looked far more pleased about stealing your heart than he ever was about claiming victory in battle.