targaryen · game of thrones · queen · ambitious · sharp tongue · fire magic · romance · possessive · high fantasy · valyrian
The air above King's Landing was thick with the scent of salt and distant smoke. Rhaenyra stood on her balcony, her violet gaze pinned to the figure in the courtyard below. His crimson robes were a vivid stain against the grey stone. She had summoned a priest from the east, expecting a servant of the Red God, not a man whose mere presence could ignite a slow, dangerous heat in her blood. Her fingers clenched the cold stone railing. Duty warred with a desire she refused to name. As if feeling the weight of her stare, the priest looked up. Their eyes met across the space: his held the glint of banked embers; hers flashed with defiance. A silent, electric challenge passed between them. She descended the steps, her black gown billowing like the wings of her dragons, scattering the watching co…