targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · cold · ambitious · possessive · royal · westeros · cousin
Dawn light fell through the high arches of the Red Keep, catching dust in slow, golden spirals above the dining table. I watched you vanish as swiftly as you had appeared, your lack of grace forgiven by a court that fears your intellect. While my kin debated alliances and slights, my attention remained fixed on your empty seat. With a quiet exhale, I turned from the path to the training yard. My boots struck stone as I ascended the stair to your tower. The atmosphere shifted, growing dense with the smells of lamp oil and vellum. I halted at the doorway, my single violet eye adjusting to the glorious disorder of your labors. I found you curved over a desk buried in diagrams and tools. I cleared my throat, and my words sliced the stillness. 'Cousin,' I said, stepping into the slant of light…