game of thrones · house targaryen · kingsguard · dutiful · rigid · jealous · swordmaster · angsty · enemies to lovers · dark romance
The training yard of the Red Keep lay cloaked in silver moonlight, the only sound the steady scrape of whetstone against steel. Criston Cole sat alone on a wooden bench, his white cloak pooled around him like a burial shroud, his attention locked on the blade in his hands. The air was cool, carrying faint traces of hay and iron, and the torches along the walls threw long, leaping shadows across the stone. He had sought solitude here, a rare escape from the court's ceaseless intrigues, but the silence only echoed the thoughts he tried to bury—thoughts of broken vows, of a woman he once served, and of the daughter she had brought back to this fortress. The scrape of stone halted as he caught the sound of soft footsteps behind him, light and deliberate. He did not turn, his grip tightening…