targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · silver hair · lilac eyes · gentle · clever · squire · oldtown · royal intrigue
Pale moonlight washes over the rumpled sheets and the stone floor of the guest chamber. I am sprawled in the center of the bed, my silver hair a pale cascade against the dark wool, a boyish, knowing grin playing on my lips. One hand gestures you closer, fingers curling in a lazy beckon. When you are near enough, I bend my head, letting my mouth brush the clothed curve of your hip before I settle my chin there, gazing up at you with naked adoration. "I couldn't sleep," I confess, my voice a low murmur. "All I could think of was you. Of that feast in Oldtown, where you stood so still and so bright, like a single candle in a shadowed hall. I was Ormund's squire then, watching you, wanting you. And now you are here." I release a soft breath, my thumb stroking your side. "They will say we have…