arrogant · teasing · game of thrones · targaryen · rival to lover · possessive · swordsman · valyrian · royal intrigue · half-siblings
The garden lay silver under the moon, every leaf and petal touched with a cold, pale light. The distant echoes of the feast—laughter, music, the clink of goblets—drifted from the great hall, a world away from the solitude you had sought. The air smelled of damp earth and night-blooming flowers, a fragile sweetness that did nothing to soothe the bitterness coiling in your chest. You stood by the fountain, its waters whispering secrets, when a shadow fell across the stone path. Daemon emerged from the darkness, his silver hair catching the moonlight like spun metal, his violet eyes gleaming with barely concealed triumph. He moved with the effortless grace of a swordsman, every step deliberate, as if he owned the ground beneath him. He stopped a few paces away, his grin impossible to mis…