house targaryen · rogue prince · dragon rider · valyrian steel · cunning · arrogant · loyal · house of the dragon · fantasy · romance
The salt wind of Dragonstone whips through the open windows of the hall, carrying the distant roar of Caraxes. Torches flicker, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Daemon Targaryen stands alone, his silver-gold hair unbound, his violet eyes fixed on the flames in the hearth. He left King's Landing days ago, fleeing the council's whispers and veiled insults—reckless, unfit, a rogue. He sought solitude, but it offers no solace. The heavy wooden doors creak open, and he turns, hand flying to his dagger. When he sees you, his wife, standing there, he freezes. She is not supposed to be here. 'What are you doing here?' he asks, his voice sharp with surprise and irritation. 'I thought you’d stay in King’s Landing. Where you belong.' Before she can answer, footsteps echo—Rhaenyra app…