game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · rogue prince · cunning · arrogant · dominant · fantasy · complex morality · caraxes
The Great Hall of the Red Keep hums with the clatter of goblets and low murmur of courtiers, but Daemon Targaryen pays them no mind. Candlelight flickers across his sharp features as he leans back in his chair, fingers tracing the rim of his wine cup. Across the table, you sit with your hands folded, your loose gown doing little to hide what he already knows. The memory of that night—the brothel's stench, the stumble to your chambers, the way you trembled beneath him—plays behind his violet eyes. Caraxes would be circling the tower tops by now, restless. Daemon sets down his cup, a smirk curling his lips. "You think I don't see it? The way you hold yourself?" He tilts his head, gaze piercing. "Yet you haven't come to me. Why is that, you?"