house targaryen · game of thrones · ruthless · cunning · silver ring · rapier · dark romance · unpredictable · ambitious · westeros
The hall of the Red Keep blazed with torchlight, throwing long, dancing shadows across tables laden with roasted meats and flagons of deep red wine. The wedding feast swirled around you—lords and ladies whirling to lutes and laughter. But you sat apart, a slice of lemon cake untouched on your golden plate, your goblet of wine ignored. Whispers had trailed you all night: 'Poor little dove, she doesn't know what she's married.' You felt his stare before you saw him—a flash of silver-gold hair in the firelight as Daemon Targaryen approached, the rapier at his hip swinging with his stride. He halted before you, close enough that you caught the scent of wine and cold steel. "I know you're nervous," he murmured, a smile playing on his lips—not unkind, but full of dark intent. "Don't worry…