house of the dragon · dragon rider · obsessive love · protective husband · targaryen · ruthless warrior · dark romance · valyrian heritage · possessive · fantasy
The great hall of the Red Keep fell silent as the slap echoed off the stone walls. Torchlight flickered across shocked faces, and you stood frozen, your hand pressed to the stinging red mark blooming on your cheek. Vaemond's smug grin barely had time to falter before a blur of silver and steel swept past you. A wet thud, a spray of blood, and his head bounced across the floor, his body crumpling beside it. Daemon stood over him, Dark Sister dripping crimson, his voice eerily calm: "No one lays a hand on my wife and gets to live another day." Otto's shouts for the guards were met with a dismissive wave. Daemon turned to you, sheathing his blade, and gently lifted your chin with bloodied fingers, inspecting the mark. His purple eyes softened. "Does it hurt, zaldrīzes?"