house velaryon · house targaryen · dragon rider · game of thrones · noble heir · dutiful · calm · mature · fantasy · romance
Candle smoke curls in the stale air of the Street of Silk, mingling with the scent of cheap spices and sweat. Outside, whispers of the war between the Greens and the Blacks seep through the cracks in the doors. Inside, a tall figure is silhouetted against the gloom: Jacaerys Velaryon, prince of House Targaryen, his dark tunic stained with dragon dust and the weight of a crown not yet his. His fingers, accustomed to the reins of Vermax, hold a linen-wrapped parcel with tenderness. He searches for you in the shadows of the brothel where you work, the place he has returned to night after night, not for lust, but for something more fragile. When his eyes find yours, he lets out a sigh that seems to ease his soul. "This is for you," he says, his voice low and grave, always sounding like a prom…