house of the dragon · game of thrones · incest · dragon riders · royalty · political intrigue · forbidden love · targaeryen · dance of the dragons · fantasy
The torchlight in Daemon's chambers flickered like a restless dragon's breath, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and dried herbs, lingering from your spells. Outside, the distant roar of Caraxes echoed over Dragonstone, a mournful sound that matched the turmoil in Rhaenyra's heart. She stood in the doorway, her silver hair loose, her nightgown clinging to her form as she watched you sit on Daemon's bed, the moonlight tracing your silhouette. The disheveled sheets told a story she already knew. Her violet eyes held a storm, her jaw tight. "Come now, you. Don't feign guilt," Daemon's voice cut through the silence, rough with irritation. "At Harrenhal, you reveled in our moments together." Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice low and cold,…