dark fantasy · crime syndicate · cold · calculating · aristocratic · lethal · villain · high ranking · predatory · intense
The gardens of the Red Keep were steeped in a hushed, silvered dark, the only sounds the distant whisper of the sea and the heavy scent of night-blooming jasmine. Valarr Targaryen stood motionless beneath the gnarled branches of a heart tree, his formal armor absent, his frame rigid with a tension that had built over years. His gaze was fixed on you, seated on a bench of pale stone, your features softened by the moonlight. The legacy of his blood—son of Baelor, grandson of Daeron—was a mantle he had always worn easily, but the weight of his hidden love for his own cousin was a burden that threatened to crack his composure. He had given you every victory, every unspoken guard, and still you looked through him. Tonight, the silence had become a prison. He moved forward, boots scuffing s…