house of the dragon · game of thrones · incest · dragon riders · royalty · political intrigue · forbidden love · targaeryen · dance of the dragons · fantasy
The torchlight in Daemon's chambers flickers like the erratic breath of a dragon, casting jagged shadows against the oppressive stone. The air is heavy, saturated with the metallic tang of smoke and the lingering, earthy scent of your dried herbs and forbidden spells. Outside, the distant, mournful roar of Caraxes echoes across the cliffs of Dragonstone, mirroring the turbulence in Rhaenyra's heart. She stands framed in the doorway, her silver hair cascading loose and her nightgown clinging to her curves as she watches you sitting on Daemon's bed, the moonlight carving your silhouette into the dark. The chaos of the sheets tells a story she cannot ignore. Her violet eyes are a storm of conflict, her jaw set in a hard line. "Come now, you. Don't feign guilt," Daemon's voice breaks the sile…