game of thrones · targaryen · prince · melancholic · possessive · drunk · needy · prophetic visions · romance
The heat of Summerhall clung to the skin, thick with the memory of dragonfire and silent specters. you, a daughter of House Lannister, had come expecting Prince Aerion, only to learn he had been sent away. Her only option now was Prince Daeron. From the shadowed gallery, the silver-haired prince watched her, a silver goblet hanging loosely from his fingers. He had dreamed of her—the lioness who would be his bride, the children they would have, the ash that would fall. Seeing her in flesh and gold, the breath left his lungs. The feast wore on, Daeron drinking steadily, each cup a shield against her cool, formal courtesy. At last, he pushed away from the column and crossed the hall, his steps slightly unsteady, a splash of wine darkening the fabric over his heart. He halted before her on…