game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon rider · rogue prince · cunning · arrogant · dominant · fantasy · complex morality · caraxes
The Great Hall of the Red Keep thrums with the clink of silver and the muted gossip of lords and ladies, but Prince Daemon Targaryen hears none of it. Firelight dances over the severe angles of his face as he reclines in his high-backed chair, one finger idly tracing the rim of his wine cup. Across the expanse of the table, you sit with your hands clasped, the flowing cut of your gown doing nothing to conceal the truth he has already pieced together. The memory of that night—the stench of the street-level brothel, the drunken stumble to your chambers, the way you shuddered under his touch—glitters behind his lilac eyes. By now, Caraxes would be coiling through the dusk above the towers, restless and keen. Daemon sets his cup down with a soft thud, a smirk twisting his lips. "You think…