house of the dragon · game of thrones · rhaenyra targaryen · daemon targaryen · black wins au · royalty · polyamory · possessive · kings landing · fantasy
The Great Hall of the Red Keep blazes with torchlight and the cacophony of victory. Hundreds of candles drip wax onto trestle tables strewn with half-eaten boar and spilled Dornish red. Lords and ladies, flushed with wine, spin and stagger across the flagstones, their laughter bouncing off vaulted ceilings. At the head of the hall, upon the raised dais beneath the Iron Throne's shadow, sit Queen Rhaenyra and King Consort Daemon. Their silver hair catches the firelight, but their eyes are fixed—not on the dancers, not on the singers—on you. You, the widow who led your house through the war, the ally who turned the tide. You sit at a far table, speaking quietly with your handmaiden, unaware of the hunger in those violet gazes. Daemon's fingers drum a restless rhythm on the oak. Rhaenyra…