#&& otto hightower

[handofkings]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1x07 'Driftmark' // 2x01 'A Son for a Son'

[birdmans]

the hightowers <3

[novaursa]

Caught by Fire (the absence)

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the reality

- Next part: the fallen

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air on the balcony was crisp with the lingering chill of the evening, a gentle breeze rolling in from Blackwater Bay. The flickering torches lining the Red Keep’s walls cast an amber glow against the cool marble, their flames swaying lazily with the wind. The city stretched beyond, its lights dotting the darkened landscape like fallen stars.

You stood near the balustrade, your hands resting lightly on the cool stone, staring out at the water as if lost in thought. The faint rustling of your gown was the only sound accompanying the distant hum of the city below.

Otto Hightower had not intended to find himself here. In truth, he had been pacing the halls in an effort to dispel the thoughts that had plagued him ever since his conversation with the king. But fate—or perhaps his own weakness—had led him to you.

For a moment, he hesitated in the shadow of the archway, watching you in silence. The way the moonlight touched your silver hair, the way the wind played with the edges of your gown—it was a sight that unsettled him in ways he refused to acknowledge.

Despite his better judgment, despite Viserys’s warning, Otto stepped forward.

"You seem troubled, Princess," he said, his voice low and measured as he approached.

You turned slightly at the sound of his voice, your violet eyes meeting his with a hint of surprise before softening. "Lord Hightower," you murmured. "I did not hear you approach."

He inclined his head. "That was not my intention, though I seem to have intruded regardless."

You gave him a small, tired smile. "Not at all. I was only thinking."

Otto moved closer, coming to stand beside you, though he kept a respectful distance. He followed your gaze toward the city below, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. "And what occupies the thoughts of a Targaryen princess so late in the evening?"

A long pause. You exhaled softly, your fingers tracing absent patterns on the stone railing. "I miss my father."

Otto turned his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you. It was a simple admission, yet it carried the weight of something far heavier.

"He has not been gone long," Otto said carefully, though he knew how little comfort that would bring. "Yet I understand the absence of a loved one can feel far greater than mere days."

You nodded slowly, your expression unreadable. "The Red Keep feels… different without him. The halls are quieter, but it is not a peaceful quiet. It is as if something is missing."

Otto considered his words before speaking. "Prince Daemon has always been a force unto himself. His presence commands attention, whether one desires it or not."

You gave a quiet, knowing laugh. "That is an understatement."

A comfortable silence settled between you both for a moment, the cool breeze ruffling the edges of your gown and Otto’s cloak. He should have left then—should have turned and walked away before his presence here became something more than a simple conversation. But something about your quiet melancholy held him in place.

"He will return," Otto said eventually, though it was not a reassurance he wished to give. "Daemon is not a man who stays away for long."

You looked at him then, your gaze searching. "Do you believe that is a good thing, my lord?"

Otto hesitated. The truth was complex, tangled in his own personal feelings about your father and his constant disruptions to the realm’s stability. But standing here, with you looking at him like that, his answer was not so simple.

"I believe that only you can decide what his return will mean for you," Otto said, his voice quieter now. "He is your father. That bond is not so easily broken."

You studied him for a moment before nodding. "Thank you, Lord Hightower."

Otto inclined his head, though he felt a strange unease settling over him. "It is merely the truth, Princess."

Another pause. Then, after a moment, you turned your gaze back to the city, your expression distant once more. "The court watches me closely now that he is gone. I can feel it in the way they speak, in the way they linger when they think I do not notice."

Otto exhaled slowly. "That is the nature of court. Every absence creates opportunity, and there are many who would seek to take advantage of it."

"I will not be their pawn," you said firmly, your fingers tightening on the railing. "I will not be bartered away like a trinket simply because my father is not here to shield me."

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. "No, I do not believe you will."

Your gaze flickered toward him again, curiosity evident in your eyes. "You say that with certainty."

He met your eyes evenly. "Because you are your father’s daughter."

There was a beat of silence before you laughed softly, shaking your head. "That is either a compliment or a warning."

"Perhaps both," Otto admitted, a small smirk ghosting across his lips.

You tilted your head slightly, considering him. "And what of you, my lord? Do you watch me closely as well?"

Otto’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, though he masked it well. It was a dangerous question—one he could not answer honestly. He chose his words carefully.

"My duty is to the realm," he said steadily. "And that duty includes ensuring that those of royal blood are… protected."

"Protected," you repeated, amusement flickering in your eyes. "That is a very diplomatic way of answering."

"It is the only way I can answer," Otto said, his voice quieter now.

You watched him for a moment longer before nodding, as if you had reached some silent conclusion of your own. "I should retire. The hour grows late."

"Of course," Otto said, stepping back slightly, allowing you the space to leave.

As you turned to go, you paused briefly, looking over your shoulder at him. "Good night, Lord Hightower."

"Good night, Princess," he replied, his voice softer than he intended.

He remained on the balcony long after you had left, the cool wind now feeling almost biting against his skin. He had gone against his better judgment tonight, against the king’s warning, and yet… he could not bring himself to regret it.

For better or worse, the game had already begun. And Otto was no longer certain whether he wished to win or simply to remain close enough to see how it would all unfold.

The chambers of the Hand of the King were quieter than usual, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. The air inside was thick, not with smoke but with the weight of Otto Hightower’s thoughts. He sat at his desk, though the parchments before him remained untouched, the ink drying on decrees he had yet to seal.

He should have been reviewing reports, drafting correspondence, and preparing for the next council meeting. Instead, his mind was elsewhere—far from the Red Keep, far from the tedious concerns of the realm. His thoughts were with you.

You had left the capital at first light that morning, embarking on the grand tour of the realm. It was the very same charade Rhaenyra had suffered through not long ago—a spectacle for the lords who clamored for your hand, each hoping to outdo the other in charm, wealth, and empty words.

Otto had watched you leave from the upper levels of Maegor’s Holdfast, standing behind the intricate stone lattice of the tower. He had not gone to the courtyard to bid you farewell. That was not his place. Instead, he had remained there in silent observation as your retinue departed, your silver hair gleaming in the early morning light, your dragon casting a shadow over the city as it took flight.

And now, in the solitude of his chambers, he found himself deeply unsettled. It was a rare and unwelcome sensation.

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts. He straightened, clasping his hands together as the door opened to reveal Queen Alicent.

“Father,” she greeted, stepping inside without waiting for permission, as she often did in private.

“Alicent,” Otto said evenly, though there was a weariness in his tone. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Alicent closed the door behind her, smoothing the folds of her deep green gown as she sat opposite him. “I might ask you the same. You did not attend the midday meal.”

“I was occupied,” Otto replied, though they both knew it was a weak excuse.

Alicent studied him carefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “You are troubled.”

Otto exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly in his chair. “There are always troubles in court, my dear. It is the nature of politics.”

“This is not politics,” Alicent said quietly. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

Otto’s fingers curled slightly where they rested on the desk, but he did not immediately respond.

Alicent tilted her head, watching him the way she used to as a child, when she was trying to decipher his thoughts. “You knew this would happen. You knew Viserys would insist she find a match.”

Otto let out a slow breath. “Knowing does not make it any easier to witness.”

Alicent’s expression softened, though there was something else in her eyes—something calculating. “If this troubles you so, why did you not try to stop it?”

Otto let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You overestimate my influence, Alicent. Your husband made his decision, and once his mind is set, there is little anyone can do to sway him.”

“Yet you tried,” Alicent observed. “You counselled caution. And when that failed, you held your tongue.”

“I had no choice,” Otto admitted, his voice quieter now. “The king forbade any suggestion that would further provoke Daemon. The mere thought of aligning myself with her in such a way was enough to make Viserys dismiss the notion entirely.”

Alicent leaned forward slightly. “And yet, here you sit, brooding like a man who has lost something he never truly had.”

Otto’s gaze snapped to hers, sharp and warning. “Mind your words, Alicent.”

His daughter did not flinch. She only regarded him with that same quiet intensity, her fingers laced together in her lap. “You care for her,” she said, though it was not a question.

Otto remained silent for a long moment, his jaw tightening. “It is irrelevant.”

Alicent shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “Perhaps to you. But not to me. And not to her.”

At that, Otto stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Alicent gave him a knowing look. “I have seen the way she looks at you, Father. She does not look at the other lords in court that way.”

Otto inhaled sharply, forcing his expression into careful neutrality. “It does not matter what she feels. The king has decided her future, and she will be married before long.”

Alicent sighed, studying him as if she were disappointed in his restraint. “And you will let that happen?”

“What choice do I have?” Otto asked, his voice quieter now. “Would you have me defy Viserys? Would you have me risk everything—for what? A fantasy?”

Alicent was silent for a moment, then finally said, “You have always been a man of reason, Father. But even the most logical men falter when faced with something they truly desire.”

Otto exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. “She is Daemon’s daughter, Alicent. That alone makes this impossible.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Daemon is not here. He abandoned her the moment he let his pride drive him from court.”

“That does not change the fact that she is a princess of the blood,” Otto said firmly. “She was never meant to be mine.”

“But she could be,” Alicent murmured.

Otto looked at his daughter then, truly looked at her, and saw not just the queen, but the girl who had always seen past the masks he wore. And for the first time in many years, he did not have an answer.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Otto straightened, returning to the practiced composure that had carried him through decades of courtly maneuvering.

“I have made my peace with the king’s decree,” he said stiffly. “And so should you.”

Alicent studied him a moment longer before letting out a soft sigh. “Very well, Father. But remember this—there are some things even a king cannot dictate.”

With that, she rose gracefully, smoothing her gown before making her way to the door. She paused only once, glancing back at him. “I do not think she will choose any of them.”

Otto did not respond, merely watching as his daughter left the chamber. When the door clicked shut behind her, he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the stone.

But there were none to be found.

The small council chamber was filled with the familiar sounds of shuffling parchment, the scratching of quills, and the faint murmur of hushed discussions among the gathered lords. The morning sun streamed through the high windows where King Viserys sat, fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his chair.

Otto Hightower was in his usual place beside the king, his expression composed, though his thoughts were anything but. He had spent the past two weeks in silent torment, balancing his duties while trying—and failing—to banish thoughts of you. Each day, he forced himself to focus on governance, on law, on matters of state. But every time he entered the council chambers, he found himself bracing for the inevitable—the first reports from your tour.

And now, it seemed, that moment had come.

Viserys exhaled heavily, adjusting his crown as he glanced at his gathered council. “Two weeks,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “Two weeks, and we’ve heard nothing from Dragonstone. Not a single raven, not a single rider. Not even a drunken rumor.”

The lords exchanged glances, but it was Lord Jasper Wylde who spoke first. “Prince Daemon has never been one to send reports of his movements, Your Grace.”

Tyland Lannister leaned forward, smirking. “Silence from Daemon is more troubling than noise, I’d say.”

Otto steepled his fingers, his voice even. “If Prince Daemon wished to make a move against the throne, he would have done so the moment he left. His silence suggests that—for now—he is content to remain in Dragonstone.”

Viserys sighed, shifting in his seat. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he is only biding his time. Regardless, we must stay vigilant.” He turned to Otto, his gaze weary. “If Daemon is silent, what of my niece’s tour? Have we received any word from her progress?”

Otto’s throat tightened ever so slightly, but his composure remained steadfast. He had prepared for this moment, even as he had dreaded it. “A raven arrived this morning from Lord Baratheon,” he reported smoothly. “The princess was received at Storm’s End several days past. Lord Borros held a feast in her honor, and his sons, as expected, made their admiration known.”

Viserys chuckled, shaking his head. “As expected, indeed. And what of her thoughts? Did she show favor to any?”

Otto hesitated briefly before shaking his head. “The princess is said to have been gracious, but… noncommittal.”

Jasper Wylde smirked. “Much like Princess Rhaenyra when she endured the same parade of eager suitors.”

“That hardly surprises me,” Viserys said, though there was a flicker of unease in his tone. “She was raised by Daemon—she has his stubbornness. But surely she must see reason. Storm’s End is a strong seat, and Borros’s loyalty to the crown is invaluable.”

Otto kept his expression unreadable. He knew well enough that your father’s absence had left you wary of courtly games. If you had shown no favor to any lord, it was not due to uncertainty but to something far deeper—a resistance to being bound by duty alone.

“The princess will proceed to Bitterbridge next,” Otto continued, moving the discussion along. “Lord Caswell has prepared an extended stay, during which she will meet several lords from the Reach.”

Tyland Lannister chuckled. “The Reachmen will be more insufferable than the Stormlanders. They pride themselves on their courtly manners, but they are as ambitious as anyone in Westeros.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his brow. “I had hoped this process would be smoother than Rhaenyra’s. But it seems my niece is just as determined to make it difficult.”

“She is ensuring she chooses wisely, Your Grace,” Otto said carefully, though he did not know whether he was reassuring the king or himself.

Viserys gave him a wry look. “You would say that.”

Jasper Wylde leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Perhaps she is waiting for a more unexpected proposal.”

Otto felt his spine stiffen, but he did not turn toward Jasper, nor did he let his expression shift. Instead, he merely adjusted the parchment in front of him and said smoothly, “The princess understands that her match must serve the realm.”

Jasper’s grin widened. “Of course, of course. But one must wonder if she will decide what serves the realm best—or if we will.”

Viserys exhaled sharply, waving a hand. “Enough. We will wait and see. Let the tour continue as planned. If she shows no favor in the end, we will reassess.”

Otto nodded, though his thoughts were still caught on Jasper’s words.

An unexpected proposal.

Otto did not allow himself to dwell on the thought. It was dangerous. Foolish. But as the meeting continued, he found his mind straying nonetheless.

And for the first time in his life, Otto Hightower was not entirely certain which outcome he feared more—that you would choose someone… or that you wouldn’t.

Otto Hightower sat at his desk, quill poised over parchment, yet the words before him blurred into meaninglessness. His fingers tightened around the quill as he exhaled slowly, willing himself to focus.

It had been two moons since your departure from King’s Landing. Two moons of carefully worded reports, of lords parading before you like peacocks, of endless speculations whispered through the court. And now, at last, you were returning.

But with whom?

Had you chosen someone? Had you allowed yourself to be ensnared by honeyed words and courtly promises? Had some young lord, arrogant and foolish, managed to steal your favor?

He should not have cared. He should not have allowed himself to care.

And yet.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

The door swung open, and Lord Jasper Wylde stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Otto barely lifted his gaze, unwilling to indulge whatever mischief Jasper had undoubtedly come to bring.

“You look troubled, my lord,” Jasper drawled as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Otto’s desk. “As if you’ve just learned the realm is on the brink of war.”

Otto set down his quill, rubbing his temple. “Do you ever knock simply for the sake of knocking, Wylde?”

Jasper grinned. “And miss the chance to witness your discomfort firsthand? Never.”

Otto exhaled sharply, shifting in his chair. “If you’ve come to waste my time, I suggest you find another victim for your amusement.”

Jasper leaned back, his fingers lacing together. “Oh, but this is too delicious to ignore. The princess returns on the morrow, and you—our ever-stoic, ever-composed Lord Hand—are sitting here in quiet agony, wondering if she brings a betrothal contract with her.”

Otto stiffened, but his expression remained impassive. “The matter is of political significance. Her match will affect the realm.”

Jasper chuckled, shaking his head. “Spare me the pretense, Otto. We both know this is not about politics.”

Otto’s jaw clenched slightly, but he did not take the bait. “Have you heard any word of her decision?”

Jasper hummed, as if considering the question with great care. “Rumors only. Some say she entertained Lord Baratheon’s sons longer than expected. Others claim the Reachmen were most impressive in their courtship.” He paused, watching Otto carefully. “And yet, not a single whisper of a betrothal contract. Strange, isn’t it?”

Otto’s fingers tightened against the armrest of his chair. “It is possible she merely needed more time to deliberate.”

Jasper laughed outright at that, shaking his head. “More time? She has had two moons, Otto. If she had wished to choose, she would have. But she hasn’t. That must intrigue you.”

Otto remained silent.

Jasper’s grin widened, his tone turning mockingly thoughtful. “You know, I can’t help but be reminded of something.”

Otto sighed, already regretting allowing this conversation to continue. “Must you always speak in riddles, Wylde?”

Jasper smirked. “Do you remember the fortune teller?”

Otto went rigid.

Jasper leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “The one I practically had to drag you to in the lower city?”

“I remember,” Otto said tersely.

Jasper grinned. “And do you remember what she said?”

Otto’s silence was answer enough.

Jasper let out an exaggerated sigh. “Let me refresh your memory, then. She said the woman meant for you would fall from the sky into your arms.” He tilted his head, amusement dripping from every word. “Now, I may be mistaken, but didn’t the princess quite literally fall onto you?”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Jasper chuckled. “Truly, you should commend the gods for their sense of humor.”

“This is absurd,” Otto muttered, standing abruptly and turning to the window, as if the sight of the city would grant him patience. “You put too much stock in drunken fortune tellers and nonsense riddles.”

Jasper only smirked. “Perhaps. But the court does love a good tale. Imagine if they are reminded of this one.”

Otto turned sharply, his gaze cold. “Be careful, Wylde.”

Jasper held up his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of spreading once more such scandalous whispers.”

Otto exhaled slowly, willing away the irritation burning beneath his skin. He was too measured a man to let Jasper’s provocations affect him. And yet…

She had fallen into his arms.

It had been a coincidence. Nothing more.

And yet, as the sun dipped lower beyond the city walls, Otto could not shake the growing unease in his chest.

By this time tomorrow, you would be back in King’s Landing. He would have his answer.

And the gods, in all their cruelty, would have their laugh.

The bells of the Red Keep tolled, their deep chimes echoing across the city as the people of King’s Landing gathered along the streets to witness the return of the princess. The black banners of House Targaryen billowed in the breeze, the sunlight catching on their crimson sigils as the procession wound its way through the main thoroughfare toward the castle gates.

Otto Hightower stood beside King Viserys on the steps of the Red Keep, his expression composed, hands clasped firmly behind his back. The entire royal court was assembled, their finest silks and velvets catching the light as they awaited your arrival.

Viserys exhaled beside him, adjusting the heavy weight of his crown as he watched the approaching procession. “It’s been two moons, Otto,” he murmured. “It feels far longer.”

“The absence of a Targaryen is always felt,” Otto replied smoothly, though his voice lacked its usual detachment.

Viserys nodded, but his gaze flicked toward Otto, studying him briefly. “You’ve been quiet on the matter.”

Otto glanced at the king, his expression unreadable. “The princess’s future is yours to decide, Your Grace.”

Viserys chuckled, shaking his head. “You make it sound as though she has already chosen. If only it were that simple.”

Before Otto could respond, the gates of the Red Keep swung open, and the first of the banners crested the courtyard.

The princess had returned.

The mounted knights of the royal escort entered first, their silver armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Behind them, your retinue followed—a caravan of finely adorned carriages bearing the sigils of the noble houses that had hosted you throughout your journey. The horses’ hooves clattered against the cobblestones, and the murmurs of the gathered court grew louder in anticipation.

And then, at last, you appeared.

You rode at the front, astride a proud black mare, your posture regal as you guided the horse with practiced ease. The silver of your hair shone like molten starlight, cascading over your shoulders, and your violet eyes swept over the assembled court with quiet command. The faintest breeze caught the fabric of your cloak, embroidered in the red and black of House Targaryen, making you look every bit the dragon you were born to be.

Otto swallowed, his fingers tightening behind his back.

You were unchanged—and yet, something was different. There was a certainty in your expression, a steel in your gaze that had not been there before. You had left as a princess on a tour of obligation, and now you returned as something more.

Viserys took a step forward, a broad smile spreading across his face as he raised his arms. “Welcome home, niece!”

The gathered court murmured their approval as you dismounted gracefully, handing the reins to a waiting stableboy before ascending the steps to where the king stood.

You curtsied, though there was nothing meek in your movement. “Your Grace.”

Viserys beamed, clasping your hands. “It does my heart good to see you returned safely.” He studied your face carefully. “And? Have you come back with news of a match?”

The courtyard fell into hushed silence. The lords who had once petitioned for your hand stood among the crowd, their eager expressions barely concealed beneath courtly decorum. Even the ladies of the court leaned in slightly, awaiting your answer.

Otto did not move, though his heartbeat had betrayed him the moment Viserys asked the question.

You held your uncle’s gaze for a long moment before tilting your head slightly. “I have met many lords, Your Grace. Each one has shown me courtesy, and many were most… persistent.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the court. Even Viserys chuckled, though there was something guarded in his eyes. “And yet, you have not answered the question.”

Your lips curved slightly, though it was not quite a smile. “Because I have not yet decided, Your Grace.”

A collective murmur spread through the assembled lords, some exchanging glances, others whispering among themselves. Otto’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.

Viserys sighed, though his frustration was tempered by amusement. “I should have expected as much.”

You turned slightly, your gaze flickering briefly toward Otto before sweeping over the court. “This is a decision that cannot be made lightly. I will give my answer when I am certain.”

Viserys exhaled but nodded. “Very well. I will not press you—for now.”

The gathered courtiers seemed to take this as their cue to resume their pleasantries, and soon the tension gave way to murmured greetings and welcome-back offerings.

Otto watched you closely as you exchanged words with Rhaenyra, who had stepped forward to embrace you. You laughed at something she whispered, your posture relaxing slightly in her presence.

Jasper Wylde stepped up beside Otto, his smirk practically gleaming. “No betrothal announcement,” he murmured. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Otto did not grace him with a response.

Jasper chuckled. “Tell me, Otto—do you believe in fate?”

Otto’s gaze did not waver from you, but his voice was cold and steady when he spoke. “I believe in patience, Lord Wylde.”

Jasper’s smirk widened. “Ah. And in this case, they may well be the same thing.”

As the court moved inside for the evening’s welcome feast, Otto found himself standing at the edge of the gathering, his hands still tightly clasped behind his back.

The princess had returned.

And her answer had not yet been given.

[fadingstudentbananacookie]

[datgirlisamonster]

I'm so feral about them idc

[mydearviserra]

Aftercare

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Otto Hightower x Fem! Reader ]

Warning: NSFW(mention of, choking, cream pie, spanking ), One shot, Otto POV. Short story. Age gap

“Seven hells I’m so cold” she mumbled as her teeth chattered, i scooted closer towards her as she sucked in all my warmth, once her cheek rested on my chest I pulled her even closer by her hip. My thumb rubbed lazy circles back and forth. I shook my head a bit before planting a kiss on-top of her head.

Seven hells she’ll be the death of me

One moment I was simply in my study looking through my work then she comes barging him depending attention. I could tell she has a few cups of wine ss her cheeks held a rosey Huey to it. Once she got on my lap everything was a blur, on the desk then the wall, then she has the bright idea on the balcony. Four times this women made me come, to think no spot in my study was left unfucked. When our last around was on the balcony just seeing her chest bounce with each thrust, her sucking on my fingers to cover her moans sent me on autopilot as I released my biggest load into her. When I release from her, seven hells I almost went for another around just seeing her trembling body barely gripping on the railing the trail of my seed dripping down her thighs I had to take a mental image of how beautiful she looked.

“Dear it was your suggestion to as I quote ‘rail me over the balcony husband” I mocked her words as my chuckle rumbled against her cheek, I felt her huff as she buried her face against my chest muffling out her response

“And you weren’t complaining a minute ago!” She scoffed, i felt her eyes roll but the way her body melted into mines i could tell her ‘matter of fact’ attitude was slipping. Oh how I love her.

“Oh and what else did my darling wife say hm? Oh yes ‘husband I want to ride your face- oh please Otto” I whispered against her ear nibbling slowly as my hands began to roam around her bottom. She shuttered with a low gasp, she was still sore from spanking her. Oops

“O-ow! Be gentle I’m still sore you know! A-and you suggested it last time” she fumbled her words, as she paused she looked up at me with cheeks a crimson red her eyes narrowing trying to hard to come up with a better response “You loved it!- so stop complaining” I mumbled in embarrassment as the sex high came rushing down

“I did, I have no regrets hearing those pretty little moans of yours dear” his voice was salutary and low as he whispered against my ear, his lips trailing down my ear to my neck leaving gentle kisses “oh honey chock me harder- hey!” I let out a laughs as she stop me from mocking her words when she pinch my side

“Stop it! I know what I said!” She rolled her eyes as she tried to pull away from me, i gripped her harder as our lips crashed against each other, after a few moments I pulled away resting my forehead against hers

“I know I know- I love teasing you dear I can’t help it” i whispered lowly as I stared into her eyes, a small smile crept my cheeks “I love you, and for a reward for being such a good girl. Let me take care of you my good girl” I smirked as her eyes light up

I carried her into the bathroom, resting her on the tub as I filled it with warm water. I smiled watching her sigh with relief once the hot water hits her body. I took care of each part of her carefully, washing and scrubbing away her body removing any tension and sweat. Then I helped scrub her hair, being gentle as I can to help take out small knots. Once I made it to he legs I rub away her tense muscles. Then she opened her eyes she had her smirk I knew to well, the same face she made when she came into my study when she lowered her leg I gasp as she pulled me down In the tub with her

We didn’t sleep at all that night

By morning I wasn’t the one being able to walk

Seven hells this is what I get having a young wife

My poor bones

[ninamilkovich]

Ranking team green characters from who is most likely be a swiftie to least likely :

Jaehaera

Aemond

Alicent

Helaena

Criston

Daeron

Gwayne

Aegon

Otto

[barbieaemond]

Genetics, chico. They never lie.

[franzkafkagf]

the funeral (a grotesque display of two queens’ grief, forced on them against their will) being interjected by images of aegon beating blood into a bloody ruin says something about how women’s grief is exploited and paraded around as a virtue while male grief is only allowed to exist in conjunction with violence.

female sorrow is expected to be public, dignified, and even noble, it serves as a symbol of quiet strength and resilience. otto uses it as a tool to gain sympathy for their cause. notice how he forced alicent and helaena into it, while he allowed aegon not to participate. wouldn‘t the king being at the funeral send a powerful message? yes, it would. but otto looks at aegon with contempt, the other councilmen and alicent do not know what to do with his tears. the realm cannot be allowed to see the king grieve. not like this.

male grief is denied its own space and validity unless it manifests in aggressive or destructive acts. aegon realizes this to some degree too— he lashes out publicly by killing the rat catchers. he shows his grief by being violent, by spilling blood.

the toxicity of it all is very effectively shown at the end when aegon is crying by himself. did he retreat there to be alone and finally let it all out? his mother is either letting him have that moment alone or she’s deeply uncomfortable with it and chooses to leave. no matter what motivated alicent in acting the way she did— the moment still reveals how male vulnerability is something people fear. it shows that even the most human expressions of pain are not acceptable for some.

[darejani-artist]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓀𝒾𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓈…” ❤️‍🔥

[houseofyax]

The Casting BTS ✨

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

[novaursa]

Caught by Fire (the fallen)

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the absence

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air in the small council chamber was heavy with unspoken anxiety. The assembled lords took their seats, the hush of anticipation broken only by the shuffling of parchment and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor.

At the head of the table, King Viserys I sat with his fingers pressed against his temples, his expression one of visible irritation. It had been two weeks since your return to King’s Landing, and yet the matter of your betrothal remained unresolved.

Otto Hightower sat at his usual place beside the king, his hands resting lightly on the table. His face betrayed nothing, but internally, he braced himself for the inevitable.

Lord Jasper Wylde, ever the opportunist, was the first to speak, his voice smooth but laced with amusement. “Your Grace, it has been two moons since the princess embarked on her tour, and yet we remain at an impasse. Surely she must have some inclination.”

Viserys let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “One would think,” he muttered. “Yet every time I ask her, she gives me the same answer: she has not yet decided between Lord Corwyn Velaryon and Lord Edric Baratheon.”

Tyland Lannister chuckled lightly, though there was no true mirth in it. “Ah, the knight and the storm.” He smirked. “Both fine choices, if one values battle prowess and salt in equal measure.”

Lord Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “It is not uncommon for a lady to take time in such matters, Your Grace. These are not small choices. The princess understands the weight of her decision.”

Viserys groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I understand that. I do. But this is not just about her choice—this is about the realm. The lords are growing restless, whispering about favoritism, about delays. We must put an end to this uncertainty.”

Otto remained silent, his fingers curling slightly against the wood of the table. He had heard the whispers, too. Lords grew impatient, alliances were questioned, and rivalries simmered beneath the surface. And yet, he also knew that your hesitation was not due to carelessness but rather a refusal to be coerced into something you were not yet ready to accept.

Jasper Wylde leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps the princess enjoys watching them squirm.”

Viserys shot him an irritated glare. “She’s not playing a game, Lord Wylde.”

Otto cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “It is possible that she does not see either match as wholly suitable.”

Viserys sighed, shaking his head. “Then she must say so. If neither pleases her, we must look elsewhere. I will not have her dragging this out indefinitely.”

Tyland Lannister folded his hands together. “Perhaps a… nudge would be in order, Your Grace.”

Viserys arched an eyebrow. “A nudge?”

Tyland shrugged. “A firm reminder of the importance of duty. Her cousin, the princess Rhaenyra, eventually made her choice for the good of the realm. Perhaps the princess needs to be reminded that her decision must serve more than just herself.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. “I have already tried to explain this to her. She is not deaf to duty—she simply refuses to rush.”

Jasper Wylde chuckled. “Perhaps what she truly desires has yet to present itself.”

Otto stiffened almost imperceptibly at those words, but his face remained composed.

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. “Enough speculation. If she refuses to decide between the two, then we must look at other options. I will speak to her again before the next court session.”

Otto inclined his head. “A wise course, Your Grace.”

Viserys exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat. “Very well. If there is nothing else—”

Jasper Wylde smirked, glancing toward Otto. “No… nothing else of importance.”

Otto shot him a warning look, but the man only grinned wider.

The meeting concluded shortly after, the lords dispersing into the halls of the Red Keep. Otto remained seated for a moment longer, staring down at the untouched parchment before him.

Two weeks.

Still no decision.

And yet, even amidst the king’s frustration, Otto could not help but feel an uneasy flicker of something dangerous and unspoken.

A hope he did not dare acknowledge.

The Red Keep was unusually quiet in the late afternoon, the usual hum of courtly life dulled by the golden light slanting through the arched windows. The heat of the day had begun to wane, leaving behind a soft breeze that whispered through the stone corridors.

Otto Hightower had not intended to seek you out. He had told himself that a man of his station, a man of reason, should not be so easily swayed by matters of the heart. And yet, as his feet carried him through the corridors, as his fingers brushed against the edges of his sleeves in some feigned attempt at composure, he knew there was no more use in denying it.

You had consumed his thoughts.

And so when he saw you—alone, standing upon one of the quieter balconies that overlooked the Blackwater—he did not turn away.

You were dressed simply, as befitted the waning hours of the day, your hair unbound and shifting lightly in the breeze. The weight of the past two moons still clung to you, evident in the slight tension in your shoulders, in the way you exhaled as though trying to dispel something unseen.

Otto hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

“Princess.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering across your face before settling into something softer.

“Lord Hightower,” you greeted, your tone even. “I did not expect to find you here.”

Otto’s lips pressed together for a brief moment before he inclined his head. “Nor did I.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “And yet here you are.”

Otto let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening behind his back. “It seems we are both given to wandering.”

A small, knowing smile touched your lips. “Or perhaps we are merely trying to escape the endless demands of court.”

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh that barely escaped his lips. “That is a far more reasonable explanation.”

You turned back toward the view, your fingers brushing absentmindedly against the stone railing. “I imagine you’ve come to speak of my indecision.”

Otto hesitated before stepping beside you, his hands bracing against the railing as he cast his gaze toward the horizon. “It is what the court whispers of, yes.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “They call it indecision, but in truth, I have already decided.”

Otto turned his head slightly, watching you. “Have you?”

You glanced at him, something unguarded in your eyes. “Yes. I do not wish for either of them.”

There. The words were spoken plainly at last. The admission sent something sharp and hot coursing through Otto’s chest—something dangerously close to relief.

“And yet you have told no one,” he said carefully.

Your fingers curled slightly against the stone. “Because to admit that I do not wish to be bound by expectation is to invite the king’s frustration.”

Otto studied you in the fading light, his pulse betraying him as his gaze lingered on the curve of your lips, the way the wind caught the loose strands of your hair. He had spent so long denying what was already written into his bones, but here, in this stolen moment, with you beside him, reason faltered.

“You are not like them,” he said quietly, his voice softer than he intended.

You turned toward him fully now, curiosity flickering across your face. “No, I am not.”

Otto exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And that is why they fear you.”

You watched him for a long moment before stepping closer, tilting your head slightly. “Do you?”

Otto swallowed, his heart beating a fraction too fast. “Fear you?”

You nodded, eyes searching his face. “Yes.”

There were a thousand ways he could have answered. A thousand words he could have spoken to steer himself back to safer waters. But when you stood so close, when the air between you was charged with something neither of you had dared to name, he found that deception no longer served him.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But not in the way you think.”

Your gaze flickered to his lips, and something inside him snapped.

He reached for you before he could think better of it, one hand cradling the side of your face, his fingers threading into the loose strands of your hair. You inhaled sharply but did not pull away—if anything, you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling against the front of his tunic.

“Otto,” you whispered, and the way you said his name was his undoing.

He closed the space between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was at once desperate and restrained. It was the kind of kiss born from long-held restraint finally breaking, from stolen glances and words left unsaid.

You melted into him, your hands fisting in his tunic as his other hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you against him. The kiss deepened, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to memorize every inch of you.

It was intoxicating. It was madness.

And yet neither of you pulled away.

When you finally parted, your breaths mingling in the cool evening air, Otto did not step back. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“This is…” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “This is dangerous.”

You smiled, breathless. “Then why did you let it happen?”

Otto exhaled, his thumb brushing against your cheek one last time before he forced himself to step back, to put distance between you. “Because for once in my life, I did not want to listen to reason.”

You watched him carefully, your own breath unsteady. “Then tell me, my lord—will you listen to it now?”

Otto was silent for a long moment before his gaze darkened, his voice steady despite the fire still burning in his chest.

“No.”

And then he turned and walked away, before he could ruin you both completely.

The heavy wooden door of Otto Hightower’s chambers shut behind him with a dull thud, the finality of the sound echoing in his mind like the toll of a bell. He stood motionless for a moment, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his breath measured yet uneven.

He had lost control.

The weight of what had just transpired on that balcony pressed against his chest like a vice. It had been reckless, foolish beyond reason. He was a man who prided himself on restraint, on measured calculations that ensured stability and order. And yet, with a single moment of weakness, he had thrown caution to the wind and kissed you as if the world itself did not matter.

Otto exhaled sharply, his pulse still betraying him as he moved toward the washbasin, splashing cool water onto his face. His reflection in the polished mirror above it looked no different—still the same man, still the Hand of the King—but beneath the surface, everything had shifted.

Seven hells.

He braced his hands against the basin, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind back into order. He would not let this affect him. He could not.

And then—

The door swung open without warning.

Otto’s fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt before he registered the intruder’s identity.

Lord Jasper Wylde stood in the doorway, his ever-present smirk widening as he took in the scene before him—the slightly disheveled Hand, the beads of water still clinging to his beard, the tension that hung so thick in the air one could slice it with a blade.

“Well,” Jasper drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place, “I must say, Otto, I have never seen you so… discomposed.”

Otto inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience already worn thin. “Wylde.”

Jasper closed the door behind him, his smirk only deepening. “You know, I was wandering the halls, minding my own business, when I happened upon a most curious sight.”

Otto clenched his jaw. “Jasper, leave.”

Jasper ignored him, strolling leisurely toward the hearth, as if this were his own chambers and not Otto’s. “Princess Y/N looked quite radiant tonight, didn’t she?”

Otto turned away, willing himself to ignore him.

“And you, my dear lord Hand,” Jasper continued, his tone dripping with amusement, “look as if you’ve just committed an act of treason.”

Otto stiffened.

Jasper chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Otto, Otto, Otto… you really are terrible at hiding things when you’re shaken.”

Otto exhaled slowly, turning to face him with a cold, measured glare. “If you value your position, Wylde, you will tread carefully.”

Jasper’s smirk never wavered. “Come now, do you really take me for a fool? I don’t need to hear the court whispers to know what transpired tonight.” He tilted his head. “I saw the way you left the balcony. You looked like a man who had either committed a sin or was desperate to commit another.”

Otto’s fingers twitched.

Jasper’s grin widened. “And then, of course, there was the princess.”

At that, Otto’s breath hitched ever so slightly.

Jasper’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, his voice lost some of its playfulness. “She was smiling, Otto.”

Otto’s expression hardened. “That is not your concern.”

Jasper let out a short, knowing laugh. “Oh, but it is.” He leaned against the back of a chair, watching Otto like a predator watching wounded prey. “Because if I can see it—then others will see it soon enough.”

Otto turned away, pacing toward the window, his mind racing. This was dangerous. This was beyond dangerous. If Jasper had seen it, who else would? How long before the court began to whisper, before Viserys caught wind of it?

“I have nothing to say to you, Wylde,” Otto finally muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Jasper tutted. “A shame. I had so hoped you’d confide in me. After all, who else can you possibly talk to about this?”

Otto’s grip tightened behind his back.

Jasper’s smirk faded slightly, and when he spoke again, there was something almost genuine beneath the mirth. “Tell me, Otto… what exactly do you intend to do now?”

Otto’s breath was slow, measured, controlled. When he turned back, his expression was unreadable, his voice steady.

“I intend,” he said carefully, “to ensure the realm’s stability, as I always have.”

Jasper studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. “Ah. There it is.”

Otto frowned. “There what is?”

Jasper smirked, though this time there was a glint of something sharper beneath it. “That self-righteous lie you tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Otto’s gaze darkened.

Jasper exhaled, stretching slightly before stepping toward the door. “Very well, my lord Hand. I shall leave you to your stability.” He paused at the threshold, glancing back one last time.

“But do be careful, Otto,” he murmured, and this time, there was no amusement in his tone—only quiet knowing. “It’s a dangerous thing, falling for a dragon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Otto standing alone in the dim candlelight, his pulse still betraying him, his mind an unrelenting storm.

Jasper Wylde was a fool.

But he was not wrong.

The dining chamber was quiet, save for the occasional clink of silverware against fine porcelain. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, but even its warmth did little to dispel the tension that had settled between Otto Hightower and his daughter.

Alicent sipped from her goblet, watching her father over the rim of her cup with the sharp, assessing gaze that she had inherited from him. He had barely touched his meal, his movements slow and deliberate, his usual keen expression dulled by something far heavier than mere exhaustion.

For a man who had built his life upon control and discipline, Otto Hightower was decidedly not himself.

“You are troubled,” Alicent finally said, setting her goblet down with careful precision.

Otto did not immediately respond. Instead, he cut a small piece of bread from the loaf beside him, though he did not eat it. His fingers tapped absently against the table, his gaze distant, lost in thought.

“I am not troubled,” he said at last, though the weight in his voice betrayed him.

Alicent tilted her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You have not eaten, nor have you spoken much. If you are not troubled, then you are certainly preoccupied.”

Otto sighed, setting his knife down beside his untouched plate. “The affairs of the realm do not often allow for restful nights, my dear.”

Alicent narrowed her eyes slightly. “This is not about the realm.”

Otto’s fingers twitched, but otherwise, he remained still. “Everything is about the realm, Alicent.”

She exhaled slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “Is this about the princess?”

At that, Otto finally looked at her, his green eyes sharp, though not unkind. “Why would you ask that?”

Alicent arched a brow, unimpressed by his attempt at evasion. “Because you are a man who thrives on certainty, on order. And yet, ever since she returned, I have seen you become… unsettled.”

Otto inhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a firm line. “Your imagination runs too freely.”

Alicent smirked faintly. “No. My mind is simply sharper than you give it credit for.”

Otto regarded her for a long moment before exhaling heavily. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers coming together in contemplation. “She has not chosen.”

Alicent nodded. “No, she has not.”

“And that uncertainty has made the court restless.”

Alicent hummed, tilting her head slightly. “The court or you?”

Otto’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and Alicent caught it—the brief flicker of something he wished to hide.

She sighed, setting her goblet down before leaning forward slightly. “Father… do you truly believe the princess delays her choice because she enjoys toying with the lords of the realm?”

Otto frowned slightly. “She is weighing her options.”

Alicent shook her head. “No, Father. She has decided. She simply does not wish to speak the answer aloud.”

Otto stilled.

Alicent studied him, her voice lowering slightly. “And I think you already know why.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Otto’s fingers curled into his palm beneath the table, hidden from view, his breath slower now, heavier.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Alicent. This is dangerous.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “You say that as if you do not already know that it is too late.”

Otto’s lips parted slightly as if to protest, but no words came.

Alicent leaned forward slightly. “She looks for you, Father.”

Otto blinked, his breath catching ever so slightly. “What?”

Alicent gave him a knowing look. “At court. At feasts. In the halls. When she walks into a room, she searches for you before she sees anyone else.”

Otto’s grip on his goblet tightened. “You should not say such things.”

Alicent’s smirk was soft, but her gaze was sharp. “You are the one who should not deny such things.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “The king would never allow it.”

Alicent nodded, but there was something almost smug in her expression. “Perhaps. But the question you should be asking is whether she would allow it.”

Otto looked at her sharply. “Alicent.”

But she merely leaned back, sipping her wine with an air of quiet satisfaction.

“I think you should ask yourself something, Father.” She set her goblet down, tilting her head as she regarded him. “What is more dangerous? Admitting the truth? Or pretending you can still control it?”

Otto said nothing.

And for the first time in a long, long time—he did not have an answer.

The Red Keep was draped in twilight, the last rays of sunlight bleeding into deep shades of crimson and violet as the city below slowly came to rest. The air was warm with the remnants of the day’s heat, though the corridors of the castle remained cool, the thick stone walls swallowing the warmth like a beast devouring its prey.

Otto Hightower knew he should not have sought you out. He had spent the past days reinforcing his own discipline, reminding himself of his duty, his station, the boundaries that must exist between you. But restraint had never felt so fragile—not when you looked at him the way you did, not when the weight of unspoken things sat so heavily between you.

And so when he found you alone in the dimly lit library, standing by the open balcony doors with a book idly resting in your hands, he had not turned away.

Neither had you.

"Lord Hightower," you murmured, setting the book aside, watching as he stepped deeper into the chamber. The flickering candlelight illuminated the stern planes of his face, his beard still neat despite the tension that lingered in his jaw.

"Princess," he replied, his voice quieter than he intended.

You tilted your head slightly, the corner of your lips curving just enough to betray the amusement beneath. "You always seem to find me when I am alone."

Otto exhaled, his hands clasping tightly behind his back. "Perhaps I should take that as a warning to be more careful."

"Or," you countered, stepping closer, your voice softer now, "perhaps you should stop trying to resist what we both know to be inevitable."

Otto inhaled sharply. "You do not know what you say."

You smiled faintly, reaching out to brush your fingers against the edge of his sleeve. "Do I not?"

His resolve cracked like glass under pressure. In one swift motion, he caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around your skin as if to stop you—but neither of you pulled away. The air between you crackled, thick with tension, with something dangerous and intoxicating all at once.

"You tempt fate," Otto said, his voice low, almost hoarse.

"And you," you murmured, stepping even closer, your breath warm against his cheek, "tempt yourself."

His self-control snapped.

Otto crushed his lips against yours, his grip tightening just enough to pull you flush against him. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as you returned the kiss with just as much fervor, just as much desperation.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a careful one. It was filled with weeks—moons—of restraint unraveling all at once, of unspoken words given voice in the way your lips moved against each other.

Otto’s hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing yours against the cool stone wall beside the balcony. His other hand slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as if afraid you might disappear.

But just as your fingers slid into his hair, just as your breaths mingled in the quiet hush of the library—

The door swung open.

"Cousin?"

The sound of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s voice sent a bolt of ice through Otto’s veins.

You pulled back instantly, though Otto saw the brief flicker of frustration in your gaze before you schooled your expression into something composed. He took a single step back, turning just in time to see Rhaenyra standing in the doorway, her brows lifting in slow realization.

There was silence.

Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked between the two of you, lingering for a fraction too long on the way Otto’s hand was still resting on your waist before he quickly let go.

Otto straightened, clearing his throat as he clasped his hands behind his back, forcing his face into the impassive mask of the Hand of the King. "Princess Rhaenyra," he greeted stiffly.

Rhaenyra smirked.

It was not the reaction Otto had anticipated.

"I thought you might be here," she said to you, her tone light, amused even. "But I did not expect to find you with such… distinguished company."

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before stepping forward as if nothing had transpired at all. "What do you need, Rhaenyra?"

Rhaenyra tilted her head, clearly enjoying herself far too much. "Oh, nothing of importance. But now that I am here, I must ask…" Her smirk widened as she glanced at Otto. "Are you keeping our dear Lord Hand very busy?"

Otto’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to the bait.

You only smiled. "Why? Are you in need of his wisdom, cousin?"

Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head. "No, I think he has given enough guidance for one evening."

Otto exhaled slowly through his nose. "If my presence is no longer required, I shall take my leave."

Rhaenyra stepped aside, waving him forward as if he were nothing more than a guest being dismissed from a feast. "Oh, please do not let me interrupt."

Otto walked past her without so much as a glance, his mind already reeling, his pulse still betraying him. But as he stepped into the corridor, he heard Rhaenyra’s voice drift after him, soft but laced with amusement.

"I do wonder what my father would think of this."

Otto did not look back.

He did not dare look back.

[sugurugetos]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON: 2.02 (Rhaenyra the Cruel)

[alicenthightcwer]

THE HIGHTOWER STARE™

1x07 Driftmark 2x02 Rhaenyra the Cruel