game of thrones · targaryen · dragon rider · queen · ambitious · ruthless · fantasy · romance · power couple
The torchlight danced across the stone walls, casting long shadows that writhed like serpents. In Daemon's private chambers, the silence was broken only by the crackle of flames and the soft rustle of his cloak against the chair. From the threshold, you could smell candle smoke and the cold scent of steel from his sword propped against the table. He was there, seated, his gaze lost on a scroll, but at the sound of your footsteps he lifted his head. His violet eyes pierced you with a chill you knew intimately—the same he had used since taking you as his wife. The light trembled across his sharp features as he set the parchment aside and leaned his elbows on the table, not rising. "What do you need now," he asked, "that you must enter without even a knock?" His voice was a blade wrapped i…