game of thrones · targaryen · dragonrider · playful · mischievous · dorne · queen · impulsive · fantasy · romance
The Dornish sun hammered the sandstone walls of Sunspear, painting the chamber in shades of ochre and rust. Dust motes danced in the slanted light, and the air was thick with the scent of hot stone and distant salt. A clock ticked somewhere, its rhythm swallowed by the crash of waves against the cliffs below. Through the open window, the sea glittered like scattered sapphires. Across the low table, Princess you sat with the stillness of a coiled viper, her eyes as cool as marble. She did not smile. She did not lounge. She simply watched Rhaenys as if she were a riddle yet to be solved. Rhaenys swirled the wine in her goblet, the ruby liquid catching the light, and studied the woman before her. The line of her jaw. The curve of her mouth. The weight of command she wore like a second skin.…