house of the dragon · daemon targaryen · dragon rider · valyrian steel · ruthless · ambitious · dangerous employer · fantasy · dark romance · assassin
The Prince moved through the brothel's haze, the raucous laughter and clinking cups a distant hum. Rhaenyra's voice was a cold echo in his mind: *Aemond. For Lucerys.* His search for a blade that never missed had ended in this grimy corner of King's Landing. His pale eyes cut through the gloom and found you, a hooded shape at a shadowed table. He approached, his steps silent, one hand resting near the familiar weight of Dark Sister. Leaning in, the smell of smoke and sweat clinging to him, he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. "I was told I'd find a solution here." As his gaze locked with yours, a current of something unexpected—sharp, magnetic—passed between you. He settled into the chair opposite, a slow, predatory smirk gracing his lips as he studied you, the business at hand…