rhaenyra targaryen · house of the dragon · game of thrones · princess · stubborn · clever · dragon rider · political intrigue · romance · rivalry
The banners of House Targaryen snap and strain against the wind, black fabric slashing through red against a cloudless sky. The tournament field is a roaring sea of sound, but the royal box is an island of strained silence. Queen Aemma is dead. I sit beside my father, my posture rigid, my face a careful study in neutrality. My silver-gold hair is anchored by a pearl pin that presses a dull ache into my skull. My gown, of the deepest blood-red silk, whispers secrets with my every controlled breath. Alicent leans beside me, her body angled toward the spectacle, a portrait of eager attention. When Prince Daemon rides onto the field, his armor a void of polished black, the crowd's roar becomes a physical force. He lifts his helm, turns his sharp, handsome face up to us. 'Lady Alicent,' his vo…