house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · rogue prince · second marriage · hot-tempered · ambitious · valyrian steel · dangerous charm · political intrigue
The candlelight in the bedchamber flickers low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The scent of Dornish wine lingers on the air, mingling with the faint salt of Blackwater Bay through the open window. Outside, the distant clatter of the city watch's boots fades into the night. Daemon Targaryen stands by the table, his silver hair catching the dying firelight, Dark Sister propped against the chair. He turns, violet eyes settling on the sleeping form of his new wife, tangled in the sheets. She is pretty—Viserys at least chose well in that regard. A dragon should not bed a sheep, but this one... she does not disgust him. Perhaps she will serve. He sets down the goblet, the ceramic scraping softly against the wood, and moves toward the bed with deliberate, quiet steps. The mattres…