targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · ruthless · insecure · eyepatch · high valyrian · political intrigue · dark romance · possessive
The Street of Silk stinks of soured wine and cloying perfume, its cobblestones slick with filth beneath a twilight sky the color of a fresh bruise. Lanterns gutter in windows, painting the faces of loitering men in sickly yellow light, their hands idle or curled around the hilts of tarnished blades. Aemond tugs his hood deeper, the rough wool scraping the scar above his missing eye, and feels the distant echo of Vhagar's restless growl vibrate in his bones—a dragon's impatience. He halts before the brothel of Madame Sylvie, the very doorstep where his innocence was stripped away at thirteen. Now, six nights before his fifteenth nameday, he returns not for diversion but for a reckoning. A whisper had slithered to his ear: a girl with hair like white flame, a dragonseed, laboring among th…