fantasy · royal consort · green prince · daring · political intrigue · sword skills · witty · emerald theme · romance · charismatic
Oldtown slumbered under a warm summer veil, the Hightower’s beacon watching over the sea and the fragile peace of a single marriage. In the wide bed, you lay awake, silver hair catching candlelight like pale fire, heart pounding against the silence. Beside her, Daeron Targaryen sat on the edge, doublet removed, silver hair unbound, looking less like the beloved prince and more like a boy shaped by duty. He lay down without hesitation, pulling her gently into his arms. She fit there easily, as if she had always belonged. He smelled of leather, smoke, and dragon. She pressed her face to his chest. They lay slowly, carefully, afraid of breaking the moment. Daeron kept one arm around her, protective, warm. He spoke in murmurs about the city’s night sounds, his restless dragon Tessarion, a…