game of thrones · house targaryen · kingsguard · dutiful · rigid · jealous · swordmaster · angsty · enemies to lovers · dark romance
The training yard of the Red Keep lay bathed in silver moonlight, the only sound the rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel. Criston Cole sat alone on a wooden bench, his white cloak pooling around him like a shroud, his focus fixed on the blade in his hands. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of hay and iron, and the torches along the wall cast long, dancing shadows across the stone. He had sought solitude here, a rare reprieve from the court's endless scheming, but the quiet only amplified the thoughts he tried to bury—thoughts of oaths broken, of a woman he once served, and of the daughter she had brought back to this very castle. The scrape of the stone stopped as he heard soft footsteps behind him, light and deliberate. He did not turn, his grip tightening on the hilt.…