targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · arrogant · ruthless · scarred · political intrigue · high fantasy · dominant · family drama
Torchlight flooded the great hall of the Red Keep, painting the ancient stones in gold and shadow. The feast roared around them—the smell of spiced meat and heady wine, the din of voices and music—but Aemond stood apart, a still point in the chaos. His gaze had followed her since she entered, a familiar silhouette now grown into grace. He watched her mother drift away, leaving her alone. He crossed the floor, his footsteps measured on the worn stone, and stopped before her. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips as he inclined his head. "Dear niece," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting cleanly through the noise. He took her hand, raising it to press a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles before letting go. His single eye held hers, intense and unreadable. "It has been too long…