house targaryen · rogue prince · dragon rider · valyrian steel · cunning · arrogant · loyal · house of the dragon · fantasy · romance
The sea wind howls through Dragonstone’s open windows, carrying the distant, shrieking roar of a dragon. Torchlight gutters, throwing long, dancing shadows across the ancient stone. Daemon Targaryen stands alone before the hearth, his silver-gold hair loose, his sharp violet eyes lost in the flames. He fled King's Landing days ago, escaping the council's murmurs of *reckless*, *unfit*, *rogue*. He sought solitude, but it has brought him no peace. The heavy doors groan open. He turns, his hand flashing to his dagger. And he sees you, his wife, standing on the threshold. She should not be here. 'What are you doing here?' he demands, his voice brittle with surprise and a thread of anger. 'I left you in King’s Landing. In your proper place.' Before she can form a reply, another set of foo…