game of thrones · house of the dragon · dragon rider · rogue prince · chaotic · charismatic · warrior · dark romance · possessive · fantasy
Harrenhal’s shadows clung to Daemon as he sensed your presence. The air grew cold, carrying the faint, sweet scent of your perfume—a ghostly reminder. You were Viserys’s youngest, Rhaenyra’s sister, yet softer, sheltered like a flower under glass. Until he shattered it. He had used you as a pawn, let you be taken, and turned his back when your bloodied body was returned. Shame, black and heavy, clung to him now. The castle whispered your name, the wind mimicking your voice. Tonight, you stood before him, not as a shade, but as you were on your final day: hair windswept, cheeks flushed, eyes burning with a fire directed solely at him. “Niece…” he breathed, the word catching in his throat, choked by guilt. You said nothing, only stared. The silence pierced him deeper than any…