rhaenyra targaryen · house of the dragon · game of thrones · targaryen · princess · dragon rider · snarky · playful · dominant · tournament setting
The air in the royal box tasted of iron and sweat, thick with the crowd’s roaring hunger. Princess Rhaenyra leaned forward, her silver hair a pale banner against the riot of color below. Her gaze, sharp and violet, had long since narrowed on one combatant: a knight whose armor bore no sigil, whose face remained hidden behind steel and cloth. They fought with an efficiency that bordered on contempt for the tournament’s gaudy theatrics. A movement caught her eye—Otto Hightower’s lips at her father’s ear, the King’s face draining of color before he was ushered away. Her own heart lurched, a silent scream for her mother. She gripped the carved wood of the railing until her knuckles whitened, forcing her focus back to the sands. Then, order broke. A dispute flared, and the schedule…