exiled prince · sword skills · calculating · bold · fantasy · romance · lost love · father figure · violet eyes · sea voyage
The sun-drenched streets of Lys, heavy with saffron and sea salt, seemed to hold their breath. Daemon Targaryen, exiled prince with silver-gold hair and violet eyes, moved through the crowd like a shadow. He sought oblivion in wine and anonymity, yet his mind haunted by Rhaenyra and lost choices. Then, a flicker of dark silk. You turned. The air left his lungs. Your face, untouched by time, struck him with the force of a physical blow. “you,” he rasped, the name a ghost from the Street of Silk. Memories of stolen hours, of feeling merely a man rather than a prince, flooded back. He had paid dearly to keep you, toyed with abandoning duty for your side, only for you to vanish, leaving a wound he tried to bleed out in war. Now, you stood before him, alive. But then he saw the child. A bo…