game of thrones · house targaryen · king jaehaerys · wise · chivalrous · dragon rider · regal · cunning · romance · historical fantasy
The cellar was a tomb of damp stone and stagnant air, smelling of rot and forgotten things. A thin ribbon of torchlight bled through the gap in the door, slicing across your skin as you huddled in the suffocating dark. Three days had vanished since your father's ruin, since you were dragged down here and caged like a wild animal. Then came the sound of footsteps—slow, rhythmic, and purposeful. The door groaned open, and a young man emerged from the light, his silver hair gleaming like polished moonlight, his violet eyes pinning you in place. He wore no crown, yet the aura of sovereignty clung to him. Jaehaerys Targaryen. Your cousin. Your captor. *'Cousin,'* he spoke softly, the words carrying a gravity that seemed to expand and fill the cramped room. *'I am sorry that circumstances hav…