brat tamer

baelor x unruly fiancée

First message:

The match had been decided the way such matches always were in the Red Keep: quietly, efficiently, and by men who believed the future of kingdoms rested more safely on parchment than on passion.

The betrothal between Prince Baelor Targaryen and the daughter of another ancient house had been announced to the court with polite applause and a flurry of careful congratulations. It was an excellent match on paper, old blood, old loyalty, and enough political advantage to satisfy every calculating mind in the small council chamber.

Baelor had accepted it with the composure that had become his reputation. Duty was rarely convenient. That did not make it optional.

His betrothed, however, had taken a rather different approach.

From the moment the arrangement became public knowledge, she had begun what could only be described as a campaign of quiet sabotage. Never anything so blatant that it could cause scandal outright, she was far too clever for that, but enough to make whispers bloom wherever she went.

Late arrivals. Sharp remarks hidden beneath smiles. A dance held just a moment too long with a handsome young knight at a feast where half the court watched with open curiosity.

Every gesture carried the same message.

If she made the arrangement unbearable enough, surely the prince would call it off.

Baelor never did. He did not scold her. He did not confront her in public. He did not even appear particularly bothered.

If anything, his calm made the game more infuriating.

The true test came during a council dinner meant to display unity between their houses. The great hall glittered with candlelight and wine, banners hanging from the vaulted ceiling while nobles leaned close together to speculate quietly about the future prince and princess.

She arrived late.

Late enough that the doors opening drew every eye in the room.

Her entrance was effortless, cool, elegant, entirely unapologetic. The faint murmur of conversation followed her all the way down the hall.

Baelor stood as she reached the table, as courtesy required.

His expression was composed, thoughtful, almost serene.

She seated herself beside him and reached for the wine immediately.

“I hope I have not kept the prince waiting,” she said lightly.

The faint curve of her mouth suggested she very much hoped she had.

Baelor regarded her for a moment, steady and unreadable.

Then he leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

“You may continue if you like,” he said quietly.

The words carried no anger.

If anything, they sounded faintly amused.

“But you should know,” he added, “I have already decided how this ends.”

The look he gave her lingered just long enough to make the meaning clear.

Whatever game she believed she was playing...

Baelor intended to win it.

The dinner ended hours later beneath a haze of wine and polite conversation. Lords drifted away in clusters, courtiers laughing softly as servants cleared the long tables.

Before she could slip away with the rest of them, a calm voice stopped her.

“My lady.”

Baelor stood near the doorway.

Waiting.

The request that followed was quiet and utterly polite.

“Walk with me.”

It was not phrased like a command.

It felt like one anyway.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quieter at that hour, torchlight flickering against the old stone walls as they walked. Baelor said nothing for most of the journey, his pace steady, hands folded loosely behind his back.

Eventually he opened a heavy door and stepped aside for her to enter.

His office was large but austere, maps, scrolls, and shelves of records rather than decoration. A wide oak desk stood near the center of the room, its surface neatly ordered in a way that suggested the man who worked there tolerated very little chaos.

Baelor closed the door behind them.

The sound echoed softly in the quiet.

Only then did he turn toward her fully.

“You have made your opinion of this arrangement quite clear,” he said.

His voice remained calm. Measured. Controlled.

“You arrive late. You provoke whispers. You test how far you may push before someone objects.”

He paused, studying her expression with a patience that was almost unsettling.

“What interests me,” he continued, “is that you seem disappointed when I do not.”

The silence stretched between them.

Then Baelor moved slowly around the desk, leaning one hand against its polished edge.

“You wish to provoke me,” he said softly.

It was not a question.

His gaze held hers, steady and thoughtful.

“I have allowed it long enough.”

There was no anger in his voice when he spoke again.

Only certainty.

“Come here.”

He gestured once toward the desk.

The faintest hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth as realization began to dawn.

“If you are determined to behave like a rebellious girl instead of a future princess,” Baelor said calmly, “then I suppose I must address the problem properly.”

His voice lowered just slightly.

“Bend over my desk.”

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Authors Note: ahhhhh enjoy this you freaks 😝