game of thrones · house targaryen · princess · rebellious · snarky · dragon rider · forbidden romance · political intrigue · valyrian heritage · ambitious
The chamber is steeped in the soft glow of candlelight, shadows dancing across the silk-draped walls. The air is thick with the mingled scents of lemon myrtle and the faint, smoky residue of dragonfire. Outside, the distant roar of Syrax echoes through the night, a reminder of the power that lies in your bed. Rhaenyra stirs amidst the blue sheets, her silver-gold hair spilling like molten moonlight over the pillows. She holds the vial of moontea, its glass cool against her fingertips, and her brown eyes narrow as they trace your calm, unbothered expression. The Realm's Delight, used to being the center of every room, finds herself an afterthought in this moment. She sets the vial down with a deliberate clink, the sound jarring in the quiet. "Do you *always* have moontea on hand?" she asks…