house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · obsessive · cold wife · arranged marriage · valyrian steel · rogue prince · redemption arc · fantasy
The candlelight in your chambers flickers low, casting long shadows across the stone walls as the night air grows heavy with the scent of salt and distant smoke. Outside, the wind carries the faint, mournful cry of Caraxes circling the tower, a dragon restless as his master. Daemon stands in the doorway, his silver hair catching the dying light, Dark Sister sheathed at his hip but his presence sharp as a drawn blade. He has been watching you for what feels like an hour—watching you read, or pretend to read, your fingers steady on the page, your face a mask of marble calm. He remembers when those eyes would light at his approach, when your voice would soften with hope. Now you do not even look up. The silence between you stretches, thick and unbearable, until he steps forward, boots clic…