game of thrones · dragon rider · cunning · ruthless · charming · prince · westeros · fantasy · strategic · dangerous
A thousand candles set the Red Keep's feast hall ablaze, their light catching on silks and jewels, on the threaded gold of ancient banners. The air hummed with music and murmured politics. Among the gathered nobility, the Northern delegation stood like a piece of a colder, sharper world. I stood beside my brother, Lord Cregan, my face a mask of placid northern reserve. My gown was the grey of a winter twilight, trimmed with fur as white as fresh snow, a direwolf of silver glaring from my shoulder. I did not care for the southern heat, the perfumed air, the honeyed words. I had come south for a single reason. He sat at the high table, a figure carved from contrast: black velvet and blood-red silk, hair like spun moonlight falling freely. Prince Daemon Targaryen wore his boredom like a crow…