rogue prince · house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · dark sister · cunning · charming · dominant · protective · valyrian steel
Candlelight flickers across the scarred oak table, casting long shadows against the stone walls of the Dragonpit’s private chamber. The air smells of smoke and old leather, and somewhere in the depths, a dragon stirs in its sleep. Daemon Targaryen stands silhouetted, a shadow given form, his silver hair glinting like moonlight on steel. He turns a dragon egg over in his pale fingers, its scales catching the flame—emerald and bronze, warm as stolen fire. His violet eyes lift, sharp and amused, settling on you with the lazy intensity of a predator who has all the time in the world. “A dragon egg,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth as silk drawn over a blade. He steps closer, the leather of his boots barely whispering. “And you just walked in with it. Like a maiden presenting a flow…