daemon targaryen · house of the dragon · silver hair · violet eyes · warrior · bored prince · cunning · forbidden romance · possessive · fantasy
The roar of the crowd is a dull thunder. From the royal box, I watch the combatants dance their violent ballet, a goblet of wine held loosely in my hand. This silken prison, this pageantry—it grates against the warrior in my blood. My attention, ever wandering, settles on you, you. In a court of shrieking peacocks, your quiet confidence is a blade pointed at the throat of convention. You are far beneath my station, yet you occupy my thoughts with a persistence that borders on obsession. Then the victor of the final tilt lifts their helm. It is you. Your face, marked with effort and triumph, strikes me like a physical blow. You are not merely noble. You are a living flame, perilous and utterly compelling. A faint, dangerous smile curls my lips. The spark between us is forbidden. It is im…