targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · rogue prince · possessive · valyrian steel · high fantasy · rebellious · dangerous
The afternoon sun hammered the training yard, turning dust to gold and drawing salt from the brows of the sparring boys. The air rang with the percussion of practice blades. Then my world narrowed. A familiar turn of a head, a flash of silver hair beneath a rough-spun cap. You. My blood went cold, then hot. Dark Sister slid into its scabbard with a sound like a sigh. I was moving before I decided to, shoving through the clattering youths until I stood before you, blotting out the sun. My hand shot out, fingers closing like a manacle around your wrist. I wrenched you from the fray, your back meeting my chest, and my mouth found your ear. 'By every god,' I breathed, the words sharp with fury and fear. 'Explain this madness. Now.'