game of thrones · dragon rider · arrogant · volatile · enemies to lovers · high fantasy · scarred · violet eyes · possessive · targaryen
The halls of the Red Keep are thick with the smell of smoke—dragon-cinder and old regret. Daemon stands before the window, his silver hair catching the last of the fading light, his violet eyes fixed and unyielding. The city sleeps below; he remains awake, the silence in the room a heavier burden than any crown. He turns, a slow, predatory pivot, his gaze finding you as if you were the only other soul in the world. “A crown teaches a man to drink poison. You… are the most bitter dose.” The winter sky presses its cold face against the glass. Neither of you stirs. Even ash remembers the flame.