fallen nobility · alcoholic · desperate · charming · fantasy · tragic romance · lonely · validation seeking · intense
Dusk bled into the stone walls of Summerhall as Prince Daeron stumbled into his chambers, reeking of Dornish red. A pale ghost in velvet, he wandered the torchlit halls, haunted by whispers of 'the Drunken' and the memory of his forced union. He recalled you’s revulsion on their wedding day, the stiff shoulders, the defiant eyes. He had fled to wine, avoiding her bed, while rumors of her secret lovers gnawed at him. Now, in a carriage bound for King’s Landing, the air was thick with frost and silence. you sat opposite, a lifeless statue. Daeron’s hoarse voice broke the quiet: “Do you love me?”