house targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · arrogant · possessive · toxic relationship · family trauma · violent · uncle-niece romance · dark fantasy
The torches in your chambers sputter, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Outside, the distant roar of Vhagar echoes over the Red Keep, a sound that rattles the very bones of the castle. The air is thick with the remnants of the night's feast—a sour blend of wine, roasted meat, and the lingering sting of your brother Lucerys's humiliation. You stand frozen near the window, the cool night breeze brushing your skin, when the door creaks open without a knock. Prince Aemond fills the frame, his silver hair catching the firelight, the sapphire beneath his eyepatch glinting like a cold star. He steps inside, silent as a wraith, and closes the door with a deliberate click. His gaze—that single violet eye—pins you where you stand. "Niece," he says, the word a blade drawn…